


It's a Comedy of Sorts

by Hinn_Raven



Series: The BFF Verse [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Background Relationships, Blood Gulch Chronicles, Drinking & Talking, F/M, Feelings, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Humor, Male-Female Friendship, Tex Lives, Tex doesn’t know how to friend, Time Travel, Wash suffers, York lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-29 02:23:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8471902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven
Summary: An accident with Wyoming's enhancement gives Tex another chance on the mission with York. This time, Blood Gulch is about to be invaded by another Freelancer.At least this one is friendly.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It only took me about a year, but it's finally happening! 
> 
> Storytime: I love Tex. I love York. I love York and Tex's friendship. And so, I wondered, "what would happen if they had both survived?" 
> 
> The resulting thought process was this. It was meant to be one big thing, but I thought I was pushing it, so it's been divided. Most of the second half has been written, so it should be up fairly soon! 
> 
> Those of you who follow me on Tumblr might recognize part of this! Back during Fluff Week in March, I posted 3k of this over on Tumblr, but never crossed it over here. I've significantly changed things though, so it's not like you missed anything if you haven't read it. 
> 
> Special thanks to renaroo, who cheered me on when I mentioned I was considering picking it up again, and proof-read this for me! Additional thanks to strudelgit, who is my fellow resident in this rare-friendship dumpster, goodluckdetective, who is a serious pal on the writing tran, and Sroloc_Elbisivni, who I've been taunting with this AU for a long, long time, and prompted the aforementioned Fluff Week version. 
> 
> (Warnings in the endnotes!)

“No you _don’t_!” Tex’s fist slammed into Wyoming’s chest piece. Whatever she hit sent off a shatter of sparks.

“Well, bugger,” Wyoming muttered. Tex didn’t even have time to say anything, didn’t have time to even try to punch him again, when suddenly everything began to blur and whirl around her, pulling her away from Wyoming.

“Shit!” Tex yelled, fighting against it, but it was like fighting gravity. It clung to her, yanking her further and further away from Wyoming.

“No!” Tex tried to lunge. She wasn’t going to let that bastard get away. He’d killed York, he’d tortured Church, he was trying to kill Tucker, she was going to... she was going to...

She blinked, and reality dissolved into a thousand pieces, breaking apart like a badly generated computer image. Tex tried to move, but her limbs wouldn’t cooperate. She tried to project out of it, but she was trapped. She tried not to panic, tried to analyze, but she had absolutely no idea what was happening.

Slowly, way too slowly, the world around her began to sharpen and clarify. She whirled as soon as she could move, looking for Wyoming, ready for the fight that had to be about to break out, but...

“I just brought it up to let you know how kickass I am.”

Tex let out a small gasp of breath, staring at the person in front of her. It... it _couldn’t be_. It had to be a dream, a hallucination...

But robots don’t dream. AIs don’t hallucinate.

York was here. York was _alive_ , kneeling in front of the holographic lock. Her internal chronometers told her it was one week ago, and York was still alive.

Tex set her teeth and closed her eyes for one moment.

Whatever had happened, whatever Wyoming had done...

She had a _chance_. She could fix things.

“Tex?” York asked, having realized something was wrong. “You’re being awfully quiet.”

“Equipment problem,” she said, quickly finding the piece that had jammed, last time around.

“Yikes,” York drawled. “Good thing you found it. That could’ve been bad.”

Tex didn’t look at him, quickly swapping it out for her spare. She’d just have to hope it would be enough. She didn’t have time to explain. She didn’t even know what she’d say.

“There,” York said, and the entrance to the teleporter unfolded.

“Okay, I’ll take the lead. Give me fifteen seconds then follow, sync?”

“Sync,” York said easily. It was like the old days again, fresh after Freelancer. It was just like it had been last time.

“Let’s go,” she said, only giving herself a moment to linger on him, to be grateful that he was _there_ , that he was _okay_.

Tex was going to kill Wyoming for this. She knew this in her bones.

She had at least an idea of what Wyoming was going to try to do, of what his plans were. She had the advantage. And _this time_ , she knew what Wyoming’s enhancement was, and he wasn’t going to take her by surprise.

She raised her gun, and slid the clip into place.

“Right beside you, Tex,” York said.

She gave him a quick nod and then leapt through the teleporter, gun blazing, confident in the knowledge that York would be right behind her.

And this time, she was going to watch his back a lot more carefully.

* * *

“Watch out!” Tex yelled, tackling York to the ground. Their armor clattered together and her hands were pressed against the ground on either side of him, her gun fallen from her hand, skittering across the ground. She wasn’t quite fast enough—the bullet still clipped him in the shoulder, blood beginning to stain the golden armor. Fear flooded her, because _no_ , not again, she couldn’t...

“Delta?” She kept her voice steady, she kept herself grounded, because she _couldn’t lose him again_. She couldn’t fail him.

“I’m fine, Tex,” York grumbled, shifting beneath her. It occurred to her that the position probably should be awkward, but she honestly couldn’t bring herself to care.

“York will survive, Tex,” Delta intoned, and Tex felt her chest heave slightly in relief.

“Be more careful, dumbass,” Tex snapped, because it wasn’t like she was about to admit anything of the sort.

“I think you broke a rib,” York groaned, one hand raised to his shoulder to try to put pressure on the wound.

“Shut up,” Tex said, almost fondly.

“Well then,” Wyoming said, suddenly looming over them, sniper rifle in hand. “Isn’t this just touching?”

Tex risked a glance at her gun—it too far away to grab easily—and tried to calculate if he could get a fatal shot at York if she lunged for it.

The odds weren’t good. Tex gritted her teeth and knew she’d have to risk lunging for Wyoming to throw off his aim.

York, still trapped beneath her, suddenly twisted, raising his gun, which Tex hadn’t even realized he’d still been holding and shooting Wyoming right in the face. The bullet glanced off the visor of Wyoming’s helmet, but he stumbled backwards with the force of the shot, and Tex leapt to her feet, taking advantage of his unstable footing and distraction and punching him right in the throat. And then she punched him again.

And again.

And again.

And then again, just in case.

After she was done, he was on the ground, unconscious. York was bleeding, but he was going to be okay.

She’d won.

Tex took a deep breath and let herself grin, savoring the moment.

“Uh, Tex?”

Tex looked behind her, and froze at the sight of blood against York’s armor. There was a lot more of it than there had been.

“I think I might have made it worse.”

Tex lunged forward, putting her hands over the wound, knocking York’s own hand aside in the process. “Dee?”

“Blood loss accelerating,” Delta said, flickering slightly with the stress. “Healing unit is not operating at full capacity.”

“My fault,” York muttered, sounding faint and far away. “Haven’t been able to keep it in repair...”

“Shut up,” Tex said harshly. “You’re going to be fine.” She pulled out the canister of biofoam, the one she only really carried for the Sim Troopers, because she never needed it herself, and pressed it against the wound.

She stared down at him, and hoped that it would be enough.

“York is unconcious, Tex,” Delta sounded worried.

“You administering painkillers?” Tex said, swallowing down the rush of fear, remembering the strangled noise York had made when he begged her not to let Delta put him under. It was different this time, though. It had to be. It had to be enough.  

“Yes. However, it is the blood loss that has caused the unconsciousness,” Delta said, and Tex felt herself sag slightly in relief. There was a long pause, while Delta collected his thoughts. “Agent Texas, I have an inquiry.”

“What is it, Delta?”

“What does it mean, that I am... concerned, for York, even though his projections of survival are well within acceptable parameters?”

Tex snorted without really feeling any amusement, looking at the odd little green AI. He’d always been one of her favorites, even before she’d realized what Sigma and Omega and Gamma really were, what they were doing. “He’s good at that. Making us worry.”

She checked his vitals on her HUD, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was bad. He wouldn’t be using that arm for a while. But he was going to live. And that’s what mattered now, really. She shifted York to take some pressure off his wound, propping his head up on her leg as she sat there, his helmet in her lap.

Tex didn’t do physical contact that wasn’t violent very often. It was... odd, cradling York, checking on him. Usually she’d just punch him for worrying her. But she doubted punching him would help anything right now.

And wasn’t that just frustrating?

“I would like a more serious answer,” Delta said, sounding peeved. She imagined that he would be frowning if he could.

“Guess you’re going native, Dee,” Tex said, unable to stop herself from smiling, despite the gravity of the situation. “That sounds like a human thing.”

Delta perched on York’s chest and peered at him, as if he could see through the mirrored visor. He probably could to a certain degree, given that he was in York’s head. Tex was struck by a ridiculous urge to pull his helmet off, check on him with her eyes. Which was stupid, because Wyoming might wake up any second, and York shouldn’t be exposed. She needed to go check on that, now that York was safe. “I am not sure I like this,” Delta said.

“Caring’s a pain in the ass,” Tex agreed, pressing her other hand on York’s helmet. “Don’t think you can help it though.”

* * *

Blood Gulch was quite possibly the worst place in the galaxy. York was actually fairly impressed—they’d done an absolutely great job at figuring out where to stash the Alpha. Anyone even thinking of checking here for him would take one look at the place and want to leave immediately. York certainly wouldn’t have thought to look here, if Tex hadn’t dragged him, bleeding and unconscious, through the teleporter.

Which was why he was sitting in the caves overlooking Blood Gulch, Delta running commentary in his head as he watched Tex attempt to kill the soldiers wearing blue. He wasn’t exactly sure what was happening, but he figured that things would resolve themselves. Tex would probably get bored eventually.

Maybe, he thought, after seeing her shoot the cobalt one, and realizing it must be the Alpha.

Finally, Tex came to find him, seething and quiet. “What’s wrong?” York asked. He was still sluggish from the painkillers. He wasn’t fit for combat, even if he could use his arm. It bothered him, being useless.

“They got another girl,” Tex grumbled. He was pretty sure that if she wasn’t too stubborn to, she’d be kicking the wall.  

York gave her a blank stare. “Tex. There were like four girls on our squad.”

“That’s not the _point_ ,” Tex said. She sounded sullen.

York stared at her again, for a long moment. Tex glared back at him, as if daring him to say anything.

“So,” York said, opting to change the subject instead of poking _that_ particular disaster. “How long am I going to be hiding up in the cave?”

“Until you’re able to stand on your feet,” Tex said, nudging him with her foot. York winced—it had been a bit more of a kick than a nudge, honestly. “I’m not inflicting you on these idiots while you’re like this.”

“And here I thought you’d be inflicting those idiots on me,” York said, offering her a grin.

She tilted her helmet in a way that told him she was rolling her eyes, and tossed him a ration bar. “It’s not much. I’ll break into Grif’s stash, get you something better.”

“Thank you Tex,” Delta said, standing on York’s good shoulder. He’d been oddly quiet lately,, and York was honestly worried. “York’s blood sugar levels are getting low.”

Tex knelt down beside him, grabbing his helmet from where he’d discarded it to check his diagnostics. “How bad is it?”

“Tex,” York grabbed her wrist, trying to stop her. “I’m _fine_.”

“You nearly _died_ ,” Tex snapped. She wasn’t quite looking at him, her head still turned towards his helmet. “That’s far from fine.”

“It’s _nothing_ ,” York said. “I’ve had worse.”

Tex finally turned to face him, and stared for a long moment. “I’ll get you supplies,” she said.

“Tex!” York called after her when she was at the mouth of the cave. She paused, not turning to face him.

There was a long pause, as York tried to figure out how he was going to say what he had to say. “Thanks,” is how it ended up. He winced. It was inadequate and stupid. But he didn’t know how to describe it—how _alive_ he felt, for the first time in years. How it felt like he had a purpose again.

How he’d missed her.  

“It’s my fault you’re here in the first place,” Tex said. She sounded oddly defensive.

“Still,” York said. “I appreciate it. You’re a good friend.”

Tex froze for a moment, her shoulders actually rising up, as if trying to defend herself from York’s words. It was one of the most human things York had ever seen her do. He had no idea what to make of it.

“You’re not going to die on me,” Tex said fiercely. And then she was gone.

* * *

There was still no sign of Wyoming, and Tex’s main suspects for Omega’s hosts had fallen flat, leaving her with no leads. Meanwhile, York’s shoulder was just about healed, at least enough for him to punch someone and shoot a gun. Which meant it was time for him to leave the cave and get to meet Tex’s new friends.

He was looking forward to it.  

He walked down the steep cliffs that lead into the canyon at Tex’s side, shotgun in hand, while they talked over the plan.

“He might…” Tex hesitated, which was worrying. “He remembers bits and pieces, sometimes. It doesn’t make sense. But just…”

“Play along?” York asked, tilting his helmet to one side. “Got it.” Not like he was about to risk the wrath of Agent Texas to tell the Alpha that he was a computer program instead of a ghost. Even though Delta was mentally despairing about it, but he still agreed with York that it was probably for the best.

Tex nodded at him, before glancing at Delta, who was still projecting between them, on York’s good side. “Delta, just… be careful.”

Delta sounded affronted. “Always, Agent Texas.”

She let out a slight growl, but led the way down to the others. The Blues had realized Tex was coming, and were gathered, including the very terrifying tank who York had already been lectured about calling “Sheila”, rather than “FILSS.”

“Who the fuck is this?” York blinked as the soldier wearing light blue armor stomped up towards them, sniper rifle gripped tightly in his hand and pointed right at York. Somehow, he’d expected someone who sounded more like the Director. The gun was unexpected too.

“Put that thing away Church, you’re more likely to hit Caboose than him. This is York. He’s here to help me to stop Wyoming and O’Malley.”

Church stared at them for a moment, his head moving quickly between them as he tried to process this. “What, another Freelancer? Great idea Tex, let’s solve our Freelancer problem with _more of these assholes_.”

< _Well, it seems as though we can safely assume that he does not have any memories of you, >_ Delta murmured to York.

“Well, I can definitely see why Tex sticks around,” York said, stifling a laugh. “You two must get along _famously_.”

“Seriously, who the fuck is this guy?”

“We worked together at Freelancer,” Tex said, exasperated. “He owes me a favor, he actually knows what he’s doing, and he’s here to help me shut down O’Malley and Wyoming.”

“Aw, Tex, you flatter me,” York said. “I didn’t realize our friendship meant so much to you.”

“Shut up York,” Tex snapped, which was probably for the best, since York was pretty sure that Church was about to blow a gasket.

“Texas! You came back!” The one in dark blue armor said. He definitely was radiating a smile, even if York couldn’t see his face.

“I was gone for half an hour, Caboose,” Tex said, but York could have sworn he heard a faintly fond note in her voice.

“Eh, can’t blame him for the surprise,” the teal one said. York swallowed slightly at the sight of that familiar shade, before making himself look away. “You’ve fucked off _way_ too many times to be offended by that.”

“Not offended, just stating the facts,” Tex said. “Where’s Kai?”

“She’s visiting the Reds,” Church said. “Doc’s over there too. I don’t know what he’s doing. I think he might be trying to get blood donations for the abomination.”

“Any sign of Wyoming?”

“Like you said, you were gone a half hour,” the one who had to be Tucker said, and York wasn’t just saying that because he’d spotted the alien child, standing waist high by his side, holding his hand.

Tex sighed. “Let’s go talk to the Reds, find out if they’ve seen anything suspicious.”

“What, besides the giant spaceship that landed on Donut?”

“Besides that,” Tex agreed.

York frowned. “That guy okay?”

“He’s fine,” Tex said dismissively as they made their way across the canyon. The Red soldiers had clearly realized something was happening, and were gathering outside of their own base, heavily armed.

“Besides,” Church said. “If he died it’s not like he wouldn’t have come back as a ghost.”

York firmly kept his mouth shut, and struggled to keep Dee from saying anything.

“Truce!” Tex yelled as they drew up towards the base.

The red one let out a growl. “ _Fine_ ,” he muttered. “What’s the hullabaloo about, Buttercup?”

York let out a choked noise. Tex shot him a glare which managed to convey all the painful ways he would suffer if he _ever_ brought that up.

“Who’s your friend?” The orange one asked, glancing at York.

“He’s not her _friend_ , dumbass,” Church hissed, bristling. York muted his helmet, just in case the temptation to laugh became too much.

“This is York,” Tex said, gesturing towards him. “He’s a Freelancer like me, here to help me with O’Malley.”

“How many of you _are there_?” The orange one said.

“Forty nine,” Tex said. “Don’t worry, I’ll shoot any of the others.”

“I’m flattered, really,” York said, only just remembering to unmute himself.

“What can I say? I’m feeling generous today.”

“He’s kind of hot,” The one in yellow armor said, tilting her head as she examined him.

York blinked, bewildered. “I’m in armor.”

“Eh,” she waved her hand. “Hotness is relative.”

York paused to ponder that, still unsure of what she meant. Tex just seemed amused by this whole thing, so he guessed it wasn’t that bad.

The Reds all looked at each other, looking like they were conspiring. Or plotting. Or planning. York wasn’t really sure of the difference.

“Dibs!” The red one said, his accent a thick caricature of a Southern drawl.   

“You can’t call dibs on a Freelancer!” Tucker protested. He was currently giving his kid a piggyback ride. “That’s not how it works!”

“No, they can,” Church spoke up, finally looking happy for the first time since York had met him. “Take him. _Please_.”

The maroon one froze, tilting his helmet. “What’s wrong with him?”

Tucker cackled. “Church is jealous ‘cuz Tex likes York better.”

“She does not!” Church screeched. “Tex is _my_ girlfriend, asshole!” York wasn’t sure if the comment was addressed to him or to Tucker.

Tex and York looked at each other, while the Reds and Blues bickered over something called the “intergalactic dibs protocol.”

“Well,” Tex said, sounding far too amused. “Guess we need to keep the teams even.”

“Try not to kick my ass too much,” York said. “Remember, I’m still recovering.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

York groaned dramatically.

“It’s settled then!” The red one said. He clasped York on the shoulder, managing to hit the bullet wound. “Welcome to Red Team, son!”

* * *

York looked at Tex and, the thing was, he _knew_ her. Tex had a turn in her posture that had him on edge, and he realized what she was thinking, what she was going to do.

If the war was over, Freelancer was defunct. The Director was powerless. The Reds and the Blues would get shipped home. Church would be safe.

She was going to take the deal. She was going to take it, and basically giftwrap herself to whoever is on the planning side of Wyoming’s schemes in the process.

And Tex would say it would be worth it, to stop the war.

And that’s what Wyoming was offering, wasn’t it? Just kidnap a kid, give him to the right people, and everything was better. All their problems, solved with the wave of a wand.

The thing is, York didn’t believe in a magic bullet. Not after Freelancer.

But looking at Tex, he was willing to bet that she did.

And so, for the second time in his life, York realized that he was about to betray one of the most important people in his life.

Last time, it had been for the greater good, had been the Right Thing To Do. Tex had asked, and York had followed her, even though he’d known what it would do to Carolina, what it would do to _them_. The lighter burned against York’s thigh, a reminder of what he’d done, of the choice he’d made.

Last time, York had been the good guy.

Now?

York wasn’t sure if he believed in good guys anymore. Lately, it’s just been the bad guys and _his_ guys.

He’d lost Carolina to the greater good.

He was _not_ about to lose his best friend.

Delta hummed in agreement in the back of his head. Tex’s safety was something even the logical AI couldn’t argue with. He showed York the angles, the possibilities.

< _She will resent this, > _Delta said.

< _But at least she’ll be alive_. >

< _I find it unlikely that they would kill her, York. It is far more likely she will be the subject of study. A Shadow AI would be a scientific curiosity. > _

< _I know, Dee_. >

It had been maybe a moment. Tex still hadn’t moved. Her shoulders were hunched, her head still tilted. York wondered where she was looking. At Church, or at Tucker?

She wasn’t looking at him, though.

Which was all that really mattered.

York lashed out, bringing the butt of his gun down on Tex’s neck—a vulnerable spot on her robot body, one that York only knew about because of Delta. Tex lets out a brief sound—not of pain, or shock, but of rage.

It’s rather distinctly a “you’re dead” sound.  

But what mattered was that Tex crumpled to the dirt like a puppet with cut strings, and everything jumped into rapid motion.

“What the fuck?” Tucker yelped.

“Well,” Wyoming said, gun suddenly pointed at York. “That was unexpected.”

“We both know what the people you’re working for would do to her,” York said. They both glanced at Church, who was crouched next to Tex, yelling about how he’d never trusted York, about how he’d known this was going to happen, and questioning York’s parentage, sexual history, and mental stability with as many variations of “fuck” as he could possibly manage. “This way, everyone wins.”

Wyoming looked at him for a long moment, then let out a small laugh.

“You never were a good liar.”

“You know, I really should work on that,” York admitted, before throwing himself to one side, just in time to dodge the shot that Wyoming tried to put through his shoulder. The same one as last time, too. Low blow, Wyoming. Low blow.

* * *

“York,” Tucker grabbed York’s arm. His heart was hammering in his throat, and he was fucking terrified—if this was what parenting is like, no wonder his mom had gone grey before Tucker hit middle school. “It’s Flowers! He’s got Junior, and—”

York glanced over his shoulder clearly spotting what Tucker had seen earlier. “Shit,” the Freelancer muttered.

Suddenly, he whipped his head back towards Tucker. “I’ll go get him,” York said, fiercely. “I’ll keep him safe. Just—” Two things were pressed into Tucker’s gloved hand. One was a strange looking thing that looked like one of those old-fashioned video-game cartridges, only this one was neon green, with a weird Y and a triangle embossed on it. The other was an old-fashioned cigarette lighter, cheap as fuck and old as balls, the paint peeling. It didn’t look like it would even work anymore. Tucker barely had time to process any of these things though, because York was talking again. “Give these to Tex, okay? And tell her I’m sorry.” And then he was _gone_ , moving faster than Tucker had ever seen him move.

The last thing Tucker saw of him was York firing his gun and launching himself into the air with a running leap, pulling himself inside. The sound of gunfire echoed through the canyon, and Tucker tried to listen for the sound of Junior’s voice, but he couldn’t hear anything, and...

“York!” Tex barrelled towards Tucker, practically spitting fire. “ _York_!”

“He’s getting Junior!” Tucker told her, having to swallow the urge to leap out of her way. He thought, for a second, that the computer chip in his hand heated up.

Tex’s head whipped towards the sky. “ _York_!” She yelled again. Tucker followed her line of sight, and managed to catch a glance of the ship, right before it vanished right before their eyes.

“What the _fuck_?” Tucker yelled.

“Wyoming’s enhancement!” Tex said, pale. “It was on the ship.”

“The time travel thing?” Tucker’s stomach began to churn. “But that means...”

Tex stared at the sky, hands curled into fists. “They could be anywhere.”

“Um, I think it is more of an “anywhen”, Tex,” Caboose said reproachfully.

Tucker and Tex both sent glares in Caboose’s direction.

“They’ll be fine,” Tucker said. “Right? You said York was one of the best.”

“Right,” Tex said, still staring at the sky. “That’s right. He’s... he was one of the best.”

Tucker looked down at the items in his hands, and offered them to Tex.

“What the fuck is this?” Tex asked, glancing at Tucker.

“He said ‘sorry’,” Tucker told her with a shrug. “And to give these to you.”

“Jackass,” Tex muttered, before she froze at the sight of the chip, her fingers barely a centimeter away from it.

“Tex?” Tucker looked at her, curious.

Tex let out a laugh. It was harsh, bitter, and long, borderline hysterical, but Tex didn’t have hysterics. But it still felt intensely intrusive, standing there, listening. It felt... private, somehow, and not in a fun, naked way.

She reached out and grabbed the two pieces of junk from him, almost gently, cradling them against her chest even as she kept laughing.

“He left me Delta,” Tex said, finally stopping to take a breath. “If he survives, I’m going to kill him.”

The next time Tucker saw Tex, she had a little glowing green guy in armor hovering over her shoulder. Tucker decided to err on the side of caution, and kept his mouth tightly shut.

* * *

The orders had come in. The Reds and Blues of Blood Gulch Canyon were to move out and to report to their reassignments as soon as possible.

“You’re seriously coming with me?” Church asked her for what must have been the fifth time that hour.

“I already said yes. Don’t make me change my mind.”

It was an empty threat, and they both knew it. Tex was going to accompany him, invisible and unseen, and go with him wherever they were going to stash him, now that the war was beginning to wind down.

They were sitting on top of the Blue Base, watching the sun set, slowly sinking in the sky. It was oddly pretty, for Blood Gulch. And oddly peaceful as well, with Kai asleep already and Sarge being suspiciously quiet, and the others all gone.

Tucker had been the last one to leave this morning, shipping out with Donut, grinning widely because Junior was waiting for him at the end of that journey. Tex closed her eyes, and tried to tell herself that if Junior had made it, York probably had too.

But it had been so long, too long, and she hadn’t heard so much as a blip on their shared channel.

“He’ll be okay,” Church said suddenly.

Tex blinked. “What?”

Church shifted, not liking the sudden change in her attention. “I mean... York. He’s pretty tough, right? He managed to take that grenade without much problem, remember?”

Tex stared at him, suddenly frozen in place.

Because she **had never told him about that**.

“And like, he snuck out of the _infirmary_ to go on that mission with the Tower,” Church continued, oblivious to Tex’s crisis. “He’s an idiot, sure, but he’s gonna be fine.”

Tex’s heart might as well have been hammering in her ears. He was _remembering_.

Tex let out a slight huff of air, not quite a laugh. “Yeah, well, I was around to save his ass those times.”

“He can pull his own ass out of the fire for once,” Church said with a shrug. “Or, who knows? Maybe Carolina will finally catch up to him. She’s his partner, after all, let her do the heavy lifting for once.”

And now it was like Tex couldn’t breathe, which was _stupid_ , because Tex didn’t have lungs.

“Tex?” Church said, sounding concerned.

“Carolina’s dead, Church,” she said.

Church deflated slightly. “Oh.”

She watched him out of the corner of her eye, looking for some indication that he knew who Carolina was, if he felt anything special about that kind of grief. But Church just seemed lost in contemplation.

“We should pack,” Tex said, finally. “The ship leaves early tomorrow morning.”

“Yeah,” Church said, tilting his head. “Probably should.”

Neither of them made any move to get up. Church slowly, as if afraid of what she would do, rested his hand on top of hers.

Tex sighed. It wasn’t like anyone was here.

She shifted herself closer towards him, and moved her hand, so their fingers twisted around each other.

“You’re such a sap,” Tex said.

“Shut up,” Church said, but he put his head on her shoulder.

They sat there until the sun went down, which was when Kai’s rave began.

* * *

Everything hurt. York set his teeth to stop himself from yelling. His healing unit was kicking in, but not as effectively without Delta. Florida had managed to get a few good hits in before he’d finally gone down. York wasn’t sure where Omega was, either. He was pretty sure the AI had jettisoned when he’d realized the ship was about to crash, but he honestly hadn’t been paying all that much attention at the time.

The chronometer on his HUD told him that it had been quite a while since they’d left Blood Gulch. Fucking Wyoming and his fucking time machine. York hadn’t wanted to believe it when Tex had told him what Wyoming’s enhancement was, but it was pretty hard to deny.

“You okay kid?” York gritted out.

“ _Honk_!” The small alien nudged him. York theoretically knew the language, but his leg was broken right now, so it was hard to focus enough to translate.

“Well, you’re walking at least.” York forced himself upright, brain screaming at him to stop moving. “Okay kid—Junior, right? We’re getting you to safety. Just give me a second.”

“ _Blargh_?”

York popped open the front of his armor, and started reaching in for the wires. Theoretically, he wasn’t supposed to know about the recovery beacon, but he and Delta had figured it out a few years ago. He managed to disable his beacon relatively quickly, but he knew they’d be looking for him. He had to get Junior to safety soon, otherwise everything would be for nothing. Whatever Wyoming’s intentions might have been about stopping the war, there was no way Project Freelancer as an organization was going to let something like that happen. The war was the only reason they’d gotten away with so much shit.

That had been one of the harder truths to learn about Freelancer, back when Tex had approached him with an encrypted data file and a story that should have been completely unbelievable.

“Alright then,” he said, heaving himself to his feet. His leg still screamed. “Let’s get going.”

“Honk!” Junior seemed pretty willing to hold his hand, which… was surprising, given that he’d just been kidnapped. He was a pretty amiable kid. Which, given what he’d seen of Tucker… made a lot of sense, actually.

His leg was mostly healed by the time they made it to the city, which was frankly a relief. There was an embassy there.

“Alright kid. Now you don’t mention me, remember? You made it here on your own.” York hesitated, but took off his healing unit, offering it to Junior. “And take this. Don’t tell anyone about it, okay? They’ll probably give you armor, and when they do, attach it. It will keep you safe. And if you see Tex… tell her everything, okay?” He might regret giving up the unit later, but honestly, he didn’t want Freelancer to get it back, and there was no way they didn’t have an idea where he was at this point.

“Honk honk!”

“Yes, I know. But I promised your dad I’d keep you safe, and I’m keeping that promise.” Then he turned around and hobbled away in as dignified of a manner as he could manage, forcing himself only to look over his shoulder twice, to make sure that Junior made it inside.

If he could make it off planet, he’d be home free. Get a message to Tex, heal up, reunite with Delta, come up with a plan.

But he knew, deep down, he wouldn't make it that far.

He stowed away aboard a train, and then another one. They grabbed him from there, locking his armor down with the familiar paint from behind.   

He saw the familiar symbol on their armor and a part of him laughed. He was home again.

* * *

Wash stared through the mirrored glass at the prisoner on the other side.

York wasn’t handcuffed. Apparently he had been at first, but after York had attempted to use them as an improvised weapon after picking the lock, it had been determined that it was best not to bother.

As easy as it was to forget, York was actually a good lockpick. He just had terrible luck with alarms.

“He’s the first live capture since the program collapsed,” Wash observed out loud. He was proud of how steady his voice was. He sounded cool, calm, and in control.

“Yes. Interestingly, however, he didn’t have his AI unit or his armor enhancement with him when our Recovery agents apprehended him,” the Counselor observed, glancing up from the tablet he was carrying.

“The Meta?” Wash asked, glancing at York again, examining him closer this time. York looked surprisingly intact to have survived a meeting with Maine. He looked older—the scar over his eye was faded, and a few new ones had joined it, that Wash could see. Particularly noticeable, given the tank top he’d been given to wear, was the large, recent looking bullet scar on his shoulder. It looked puckered, like the only care it had been given was biofoam. But it was still at least two months old. He looked slightly thin, but apart from that, he seemed normal. If Wash ignored the surroundings, it could have been a scene back at Freelancer, York sitting kicked back in a chair in casual clothing, examining his surroundings with a lazy look that Wash knew better than to believe.

“We doubt it. However, he hasn’t been answering questions. He’s been… rather reluctant to cooperate,” the Counselor’s voice didn’t betray the irritation he surely must be feeling. York potentially had a plethora of answers that they _needed_.

Ones that _Wash_ needed, if only he could talk to York alone.

“He will,” the Director said. Wash couldn’t help but show his surprise at the familiar voice behind him, having not heard the quiet, unarmored steps as they had approached. He hadn’t seen the Director in person since before the crash. Seeing him here and now...

He shoved down the wave of memories that threatened to overwhelm him, and tried to ignore Epsilon’s ghost, screaming about betrayal.

“You have a job to do, Agent Washington,” the Director said, not acknowledging Wash’s surprise at his presence. “I suggest you get our answers, whatever it takes.”

Wash was grateful for his helmet, hiding his expression. “Yes sir,” he said, turning and opening the door.

York froze when he walked in. His eyes locked on Wash for a second, and Wash couldn’t help but wonder what the older man was thinking.

Then the shocked expression vanished and a grin appeared, as wide as Wash had remembered it. It was as if no time had passed at all.

“Wash! Good to see you. I’d offer you a chair, but I’m sitting on the only one because apparently I’m a danger to others!” York laughed, as if he found the idea hilarious. As if he hadn’t tried to garrote a guard with a handcuff chain only three hours ago.

“York,” he said briefly, grateful for his own helmet, while York was so exposed and open. He ignored the itching feeling on the back of his neck, where the Counselor and the Director’s eyes felt like it was boring right into him. “Where’s Delta?” He circled the table slowly, trying to make himself as threatening as possible.

“Right to the chase I see! Well, it’s a funny story! I met Wyoming last week, and we got to talking. ‘York,’ he said to me, ‘These knock-knock jokes are starting to get to me’, how about we switch AI for a little while?’ And I, being the kind and compassionate person that I am, agreed, but Gamma got bored and decided he wanted to hijack a ship instead, and then he decided to crash the ship. Apparently I’m not as entertaining. I don’t laugh enough at his jokes.” York didn’t even turn to keep track of Wash, just chatting casually as if Wash hadn’t moved.

“Great. And what _really_ happened?” Wash demanded from behind York. He made himself close his eyes for a second. This was just an interrogation. If York cooperated, it would stay that way.

“Don’t have Delta anymore. I traded him for a grape and three rusty washers.”

“And your healing unit?” Wash prowled so that he could have an unobscured view of York’s expression.

“North mugged me and stole it.” York said with a straight face. “Said he needed it for the migraines dealing with South gave him.”

“You know North is dead, right? And Wyoming?” Wash snapped, slamming his hands against the table. He was all too aware of the Counselor and Director’s gazes on his back. “So why don’t you cut the jokes and tell me what I need to know?”

“Wait, North’s dead?” Shock flickered across York’s face—he honestly hadn’t known. “Well shit. We’re becoming an endangered species, aren’t we?”

“You’re not surprised about Wyoming though,” Wash said, leaning forward.

“Ah, what can I say? Tex has a temper,” York tilted his seat back slightly. Or at least tried to—it was bolted to the floor to prevent him from using it as a weapon.

“So you’ve been in contact with Texas?” Wash said. It wasn’t information he was interested in, but the Director would want to know.   

York smirked. “Sure, we had lunch last week.”

“Are you going to give me a straight answer?” Wash demanded.

York raised an eyebrow at him. “C’mon Wash,” he said. “You should know me better than that.”

Wash gritted his teeth, steeling himself. He would be receiving the signal to escalate the interrogation any minute, and he’d have to make the decision... he froze as his radio crackled to life. But instead of the signal, it was an incoming message “ _Agent Washington_ ,” The Counselor said. “ _I believe we have new information that would make any contribution that Agent York could make…_ _redundant._ ”

Wash stared at York, who had clearly noticed something.

“Well?” York asked, raising the eyebrow over his bad eye.

“We’re done here,” Wash spat, turning on his heel and leaving the room, trying to believe he’d see York again, alive.

“What is it?” Wash demanded, the minute the door swung shut.

“Agent Texas’s AI was just reported being present in Valhalla, which has in turn attracted the Meta. You are to collect several Simulation Troopers with experience with that AI, and then report to the base to attempt to pick up his trail.” The Director’s eyes were harsh. “You are to stop the Meta at any cost, Agent Washington.”

Wash said nothing.

He only saluted.

* * *

“And he knows about Freelancer as well?” Talking to Caboose was like talking to a toddler crossed with a walking headache. Wash tried to just focus on what was at hand.

“Yeah, he knows all about your AI game. He dated Tex!”

“Agent Texas?” Wash felt his brain grind to a halt. “Um. How could a person-”

A shot went off, barely missing him. “Fuck!”

“Sniper!” Wash ran for cover, but Caboose just stood there, puzzled.

“Okay! That was your one warning shot! The next one’s going right between your eyes!”

“Private Caboose! Get down!” _He wasn’t moving_ , Wash wanted to scream. What kind of person had let someone like this in the army, even if it was only a simulation trooper?

“Wait a minute,” Caboose said, as if he was realizing something important. Wash blinked, wondering where, exactly, the blue soldier’s mind was.

“Alright! I warned ya. Sayonara biatch!” Another shot went off, but Caboose didn’t move. “Ah, c’mon, what the fuck!”

“Caboose!” Wash yelled, worried despite himself for the sim trooper.

“I know that voice!” The sniper had missed, apparently. “Church! Church, it’s me! Your all-time best friend!” If Wash had thought Caboose had sounded happy before, it was nothing compared to how he sounded now.

“Caboose? Caboose is that you?”

“Yes! Church, it’s me!” Another shot went off. “I have missed you so much!” Two more shots. “It has been so long!”

It was at that moment that the name sunk in. _This_ was the guy he’d been sent to recruit? A sniper so incompetent that he couldn’t hit the six-feet something, completely stationary target?

Wash had a headache. And he was also confused. This was a mess.

“Did you miss me?”

“Fuck, I missed him!”

“I knew you did!”

“ _Go. Away_!”

“This is your friend?”

“Yeah!”

“And he’s shooting at you.” And he’d thought the Freelancers had been dysfunctional.

Another couple of shots went off, further off target each time.

“Well, at me, and stuff around me.” As if to illustrate his point, a nearby rock cracked under the force of the bullet. “Yeah, this is kind of like our thing. So he acts like he doesn’t like me, but he really likes me.”

Wash stared.

“Oh, and he might bring up something about me killing him, but that’s not really true. Uh, it’s a joke.” He gasped. “You can play along if you want!”

“Wait, that doesn't make any sense. You did what? You killed him?”

“Hey, scram! Get the fuck out of here!” The sniper had finally emerged. He was wearing pale blue armor that was actually upgraded, unlike Caboose who still wore the old issue.

“Hey Church! This is Agent Washington! He needs to speak with you!” Caboose addressed the soldier eagerly, like a puppy presenting its owner with a toy.

“Agent Wa— _you brought a Freelancer here_? What’s wrong with you?”

That was probably the first sensible question that Wash had heard all day, not that he would ever admit that outloud. “Open this gate,” he ordered.

“Uh, no can do bud. See, this is a secure facility. Nobody in, nobody out. Sorry! Guess you’ll have to come back... never.”

Wash wondered if Church had always been like this, or if long-term exposure to Caboose had incited a personality with that much dickishness.

“Oh no. Then I guess we’ll just have to walk through the huge _hole_ in your secure wall.” Wash pointed his gun at it for good measure.

Wash could hear pure venom as Church snapped. “ _Fine_. I’ll open the fucking gate.” He rolled his eyes. Sim Troopers.

They barely were inside when Church came down to greet them. “Yeah, well, sorry the place is so messy... _Tex no_!”

Wash began to turn, only to be met with the butt of a rifle to the helmet. He went down like a sack of bricks, and he stared as the familiar shape of Agent Texas uncloaked from her active camouflage. He stared down the barrel of her gun, and wondered if he was imagining the smile in her voice as she said.

“Hello _Wash_.”

He was dead.

“Tex,” he said, trying to keep his voice under control. “Nice to see you again.” He should have _realized_ —it had all been in the name. _Church_. The Alpha was here, and Beta was keeping an eye on him, to make sure that Freelancer couldn’t touch him again. His odds of survival had just tanked, and he was nervous.

“What the hell are you doing here, Washington?”

“Your old AI, Omega? The Meta got him. Command said these Blues had some experience with him.”

“I see,” the gun didn’t move away from his face. But she hadn’t shot him yet, which was… progress? Probably.

Wash gritted his teeth, trying to figure out what to say. He didn’t know Texas, he only remembered Allison, and he knew better than to try to conflate the two of them, but it meant he had no groundwork to work with. It’s not like they’d interacted much at Freelancer. “Funny, I wasn’t expecting to see you around here. From what York said—”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, because Tex leveraged him up to his feet, but only so she could press him against the wall, her hand latched around his throat, squeezing.

“ _Where’s York_?” She demanded. Wash grasped desperately at her hand, which was unnaturally strong. Even with the armor, she was doing an excellent job at cutting off his air.

“Agent Texas,” the familiar glow of Delta appeared beside her. Wash was already gasping for air, but he felt his mouth fall open even more at the sight. _Of course_. If York was going to entrust Delta to anyone, it would have been Tex. He wanted to kick himself for not realizing it sooner. “I believe that you would need to decrease pressure by thirteen percent in order for Agent Washington to be able to answer your question.”

“Thanks, Delta,” Tex said darkly, and suddenly, Wash could breathe again.

“This really isn’t necessary,” he said, as Tex moved him higher into the air, so his feet were barely scraping the ground. He had to struggle to keep his voice under control. “We’re on the same side here, Texas.”

“I really doubt that,” Tex said. Her hand squeezed slightly, making Wash choke again before loosening. A reminder. “Now where’s York?”

“And what the hell’s a Meta?” Asked Church.

“I have the coordinates,” Wash said, grateful he’d managed to find out what prison York was being transferred to. “And the Meta’s Maine, Tex. He’s been tracking us down. He got North two months back.”

“North’s dead?” Tex tilted her head.

“Yes. He’s going after AI and armor enhancements.” He deliberately moved his head enough to look at Church. “ _All of them_.” Her grip on his throat tightened for a moment.

“What do you want, Washington?” Tex demanded.

Wash licked his lips behind the safety of his visor. “I want to make Freelancer pay for everything they’ve done.”

“You’re working for them.”

“What better way to find out what I need to know?” Wash demanded. “I don’t have the tools. But they _trust me_.”

Tex stared at him for a long moment, contemplating what he’d said. “Tell Command about me, and you’ll wish you’ve never been born,” she said, her voice sickly sweet. “I’m going to get York, then I’ll meet back up with you.”

“How will you know where to find us?” Wash said, wincing slightly as she dropped him to the dirt.

Wash could only imagine what Tex’s grin looked like, but he had the feeling it had a close resemblance to a shark that had smelled blood in the water.

“Oh, I’ll know,” she said, which, honestly, would probably give Wash nightmares if he ever slept anymore. As it was…

“Field trip!” Caboose yelled. Wash had honestly forgotten that he was even there. He was surprised at how long the blue soldier had managed to remain quiet.

“What? Why the fuck are we going with that guy?” Church squawked.

“Just do it!” Tex snapped.

“Like fuck! I’m going with you!”

“Not happening, cockbite!”

“Try and stop me, bitch!”

“Well, I’m not coming back here, so…” Tex spun around and vanished from sight.

“Damn it! Tex!”

“Are they always like this?” Wash asked Caboose, forgetting for a minute who he was talking to.

“No. Sometimes they fight.”

Wash rubbed his helmet with his hand. He had a headache. He suspected it was only going to get worse before it got better.

“Let’s get going,” he said, already feeling exhausted to the bone.

* * *

York’s cell was boring. York wasn’t used to being alone in his head anymore—without Delta, running calculations and scenarios, or even to banter with, it felt oddly empty.

He was surprised he was still alive—he knew too much. It was probably because the Director thought he knew where Tex was.

The problem was, of course, that York would rather be dead than let that bastard get his hands on Tex again.

York sighed, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t like any of this. No one knew where he was, Wash was working for Freelancer, North was dead, and he hadn’t had word from Tex since Blood Gulch.

Tex might even think he was dead, if she heard about the ship crash. He probably should get used to the idea that no one was coming for him.

Of course, that was the exact moment that an armored hand rapped against the steel bars of his cell, alerting him to the presence of a shimmering figure, almost completely hidden.

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eye,” York said, not sitting up and not turning to look at her.

“Really York? You got captured?” York could hear the relief in her voice, relief that he also felt, seeing her again.

“Broke my leg and set off my recovery beacon in the landing,” York replied, trying to move his lips as little as he could manage. “Managed to get the kid to safety, along with my healing unit before they caught me.”

“Interesting. You know,” Tex’s voice was oddly conversational. “Apparently you’ve been declared a liability, and a few guards are supposed to come into your cell and shoot you in—oh, about half an hour?”

“Oh really?” York let his eye flicker towards her, and raised his hands above his head, as if stretching. The familiar feel of a pistol grip was pressed into his palm.

“Yep. So, you fight them off, I start knocking heads together?”

“Let me guess. I’m tragically killed, you kill my murderers, run off with my dead body to bury it properly?”

“One less Freelancer,” Tex said.

“Tragic really. We should probably start a support group. All this grief can’t be good for us.” York tucked the gun under his pillow. “How’s Delta?”

“He’s good. He can’t appear, because of the cameras.”

“Good to hear. See you in forty minutes?”

“Thirty three.” Tex disappeared.

* * *

When he was out, when his armor was recovered, the bad guys were dead, and the prison was far behind them, Tex pressed Delta’s chip into his palm. “Don’t know how you deal with him,” she said. “Pain in the ass, that one.”

“Right?” York said, as if he wasn’t already lifting the chip to his implants. “So much _nagging_.”

York staggered as everything slipped into place once again, as his mind stretched out, filling itself so that it didn’t feel quite so empty. Filling itself with _Delta_.

“York,” Delta said. “It is good to see you again.”

“You too, Dee,” York said, smiling widely.

Tex threw his helmet at his face, which he caught barely after a warning from Delta. “Suit up,” she said. “I left Wash alone with Church and Caboose and I don’t trust him.”

“And you left him alone with them anyway?”

“He won’t do anything yet,” Tex said dangerously.

York looked at her. “You left Church alone with a strange Freelancer to come get me?” He said again, incredulous.

Tex punched his shoulder. “Shut up.”

York grinned, and reached for his armor. “Missed you too, Tex.”

“I didn’t say I missed you.”

“Sorry. Love you too, Tex.”

This time York didn’t catch his helmet before it hit him.

* * *

Trying to get information out of Church about York was like pulling teeth.

Church seemed to _hate_ York, spitting insults every time the name came up. Whenever Wash asked him a direct question, Church would get suspicious, and demand why Wash wanted to know.

Caboose was more forthcoming, but Wash wasn’t sure in this instance if “forthcoming” meant “helpful”.

“He is Tex’s best friend!” Caboose told him, voice muffled as he cheerfully shoved his face full of the rations Wash had brought along for their journey. He’d never seen someone so _happy_ about eating rations.

“Her... best friend,” Wash repeated slowly, staring at the man.

Caboose nodded solemnly. “She was very upset when he left,” he said. “She called him many names and said she was going to do mean things to him but she did it because she was sad, so it means she missed him loads and loads!”

Wash closed his eyes. “So he’s her partner.”

“Nooo, Agent Washington, that is not what I said! He is her best friend forever. They are not cowboys. And they also do not dance.”

Wash exhaled for a long moment, trying to remember his breathing exercises.

“How long was York in the canyon?” Wash tried instead.

“A very long time,” Caboose said. “Tex hid him in a cave. It was fun.”

“No she did _not_ , Caboose!” Church yelled. “Stop making shit up!”

Caboose looked offended.

Wash wanted to groan.

He was running in circles, trying to find answers.

He’d found the Alpha, but that was about the only thing that made sense.

And even Alpha didn’t make sense, as Wash was about to find out.

Seriously, who jumped to the conclusion of _ghost_?

* * *

Tex would never say it out loud, but it felt right to have York at her back once again. And it was nice to have some peace and quiet in her own head, even if York was cheerfully chatting over the radio.

“So what do you think?” York asked, leaning against the wall. He was facing away from Tex, watching her back, while she was sprawled out on the ground, keeping an eye out through the scope of the sniper rifle she’d picked up. “Can we trust him?”

“I’m not sure,” Tex said. “He was working for them.”

“Might not have had an out like we did,” York pointed out. “Besides, didn’t he say he wanted revenge?”

“That’s the only reason he’s still upright,” Tex said flatly, although she couldn’t help the smirk on her face as she spotted Wash throwing his hands into the air in a sign of exasperation at Caboose’s antics.

“He’s not dealing well,” Tex said. “Maybe he’d prefer it if I shot him.”

York let out a chuckle. “And he’s only dealing with two of the four. Any word from Tucker and Kai?”

“Last I heard, Tucker was in the desert. With Junior,” she added. “Kai’s still at Blood Gulch.”

York exhaled sharply. “So it worked then.”

“Yes.” She set down her rifle. Because they hadn’t talked about it, hadn’t addressed it, and she needed _answers_. “Are you going to tell me what the hell you were thinking, pulling that?”

“Making sure you didn’t do something you’d regret,” York said, turning to face her.

“You don’t get to make that call,” she snapped. “It was my decision-”

“To kidnap a kid?” York said, incredulous. “To just hand yourself over to whoever it was that Wyoming was working for?”

“I—”

“ _Best case_ , you end up in a lab for the rest of your life,” York said harshly. “Worst case? The Director.”

Tex flinched at the thought. Her skin crawled and every single inch of her rebelled at the idea of what would happen.

Of what he’d try to turn her into.

“It would have been worth it to end the war,” she insisted.

“Well, the war ended anyway,” York said. “And you’re still here. So I’m going to call it a win.”

Tex quieted slightly at that, but she was still scowling. “It was a stupid decision,” she told him. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“And if I hadn’t done it, _you_ could have gotten yourself killed,” York pointed out. “Really, there were no good decisions here.”

She slowly felt herself relax.

“Speaking of things we weren’t talking about,” York said. “You ever going to tell me how you knew Wyoming had the time travel unit?”

Tex froze.

“Because you know, I was thinking, when we talked about it before we went on the mission, we didn’t know. But then you did know. And I’m just a little bit confused on that subject,” York said, looking at her.

He was too observant by half.

Tex picked up the sniper rifle again, checking on them. “I’d been caught in a loop,” she said, quietly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” York asked. “Tex, if you’d known—”

“You were dead,” Tex said, cutting him off. Delta flickered into existence, clearly shocked. “You were dead, and Wyoming killed you, and I broke that fucking unit and I... I got to fix things.”

York stared at her. “Shit.”

Tex snorted. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Delta nudged at her, sending a request for information. Tex ignored him. She wasn’t going to share those files. Delta didn’t need to share that pain, that grief. Delta sent her an annoyed ping through the radio.

Tex tensed suddenly, distracted from Delta and York. “They’re moving. I think something’s changed.”

“Should we go say hello?”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Tex said, slinging the rifle over her shoulder. “The Reds are here.”

“Well shit,” York said, peering over her shoulder. “Oh look, it’s a party.”

“And they started without us,” Tex said. “Let’s gate crash.”

* * *

“Memory is the key,” Tex repeated again, making a face. “Really Delta? You couldn’t have made that sound less pretentious?”

“My apologies, Tex. I shall try to make my statements subtler in the future.”

“Will you two stop it? You’re killing my groove here,” York said, spinning the holographic lock. The two of them were raiding the servers, grabbing as much data as they could manage, to try to fill in the gaps in CT’s files. This way, they’d have as complete a picture as possible.

“I didn’t realize you had one,” Tex said, nudging York slightly. “Are you sure letting Wash and Church go down to the vault was a good idea?”

“Who said it was a good idea? I’m more concerned with leaving the Reds in the control room,” York said.

Tex paused, considering. “Good point,” she admitted. “Can’t wait to see what they do.”

York paused thoughtfully. “Should be great,” he said. He span it one more time. “Got it.”

“Great,” Tex said, vanishing from sight. “Give me two minutes, then make some noise.”

“On it,” York said. “Good luck Tex.”

“Thank,” Tex said, with that familiar smugness. “I don’t need it.”

York grinned slightly. It was good to have Tex back.

* * *

“Wash has been trying to convince me that I'm an _A.I_.” Church said, and York felt, rather than saw, Tex freeze.

< _This cannot be good_ ,> Delta murmured. York had to agree.

“Why would he do that?” Grif asked.

“Great question,” Tex snarled, but it was too quiet for any of the others to hear. York reached out, and placed a hand on her arm, trying to calm her down, although he knew it would likely be useless.

“Something about if I’m the Alpha, I can distract the Meta while he sets off a fucking emp,” Church scoffed.

And oh shit.  

“He said _what_?” Tex whirled to face Wash, who took several steps back, as if only just realizing he might have just made a very large mistake.

“It’s a legitimate strategy!” Wash said, forcing himself forward again. “He’s the only thing— _person_ —” Wash corrected himself, clearly sensing the danger he was in. “Who can distract the Meta long enough to allow me to set off the EMP.”

“Which puts him _in the blast range_!” Tex lunged at Wash. Wash managed to dodge right at the initial attack, but Tex wasn’t the top of the leaderboard for nothing. She pivoted on the spot, and her hand shot out, snagging Wash by the throat and slamming him to the ground.

“Tex!” York shouted at the same time as Church did, but Tex wasn’t listening to either of them.

“That is _not_ happening.” Tex snarled to Wash, their helmets close together. “That bastard got Carolina, he _doesn’t_ get Church too!”

York felt as if he’d been suckerpunched, hearing that name. “Tex,” York said, quietly, forcing himself to speak, because no, he wasn’t going to let this go. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Tex didn’t look at him. “This is for _her_. But I’m not losing anyone else.”

“Who the fuck is Carolina?” Simmons asked.

“An old friend,” Church, surprisingly, was the one to answer. “A Freelancer.”

York desperately stopped himself from asking if Church remembered her. He’d heard other snippets of Church’s memories of Freelancer; vague, odd snippets interspersed with awful little pieces of the truth that made York and Tex pause in their tracks.

“Then how do _you_ suggest we do it?” Wash demanded, hands fruitlessly pulling at Tex’s grip on his neck.

York shrugged. “Easy. You and I go in.”

“ _York_ ,” Tex said, almost protesting.

“No, Tex. You’re not going near that thing,” York said. “Wash and I can handle this. You take the guys and get out of here.”

“Wait, this plan is running away? I’m suddenly on board,” Grif said, visibly perking up. Sarge was still riding high on deleting the Blues, and so didn’t even have any protests about being left behind for the fighting.

Instead he just pointed at York. “Do us proud, son.”

York gave a lazy salute. “Suck it blue, sir.”

Tex grabbed his arm, having finally let go of Wash and straightened up. “York—”

“I’ll get him, Tex,” York promised.

“—be careful.”

He stared at her. “... you too, Tex.” He held out Delta’s chip. “Last time?”

“Last time.” Delta blinked into existence as Tex implanted him. It wasn’t getting easier, parting with Delta. York closed his eye, and tried to mentally align himself for this.

“Do remember to compensate for your injured side,” Delta said.

York laughed. “Got it, Dee.”

* * *

It had been weeks, and there was still nothing. Wash was still in prison.

He paced the length of his cell again, trying to think of what had happened, of what had gone wrong. Had they not made it far enough? Had Epsilon and Tex been destroyed in the EMP blast? Where was York?

The wall shook, and then suddenly Wash stared as Tex was on the other side, standing among the rubbled remains of the cell wall. “Found you,” she said, sounding incredibly satisfied with herself. “Oh, they left you with your armor? That makes things easier.” Suddenly a gun was thrown at him. “Great, let’s go.”

“ _Tex_?” Wash squeaked, even as he automatically loaded the rifle.

“Do I have to spell it out for you, dumbass? This is a break out.”

“Where’s York?”

“How do you think I got this far?” Tex demanded. “Now, _move_! You know how bad York is with alarms!”

They made it halfway down the corridor before the alarms started blazing, true to form. Before long, Wash and Tex were pinned down by gunfire, Wash was bleeding, and Tex was sparking slightly. “This is the worst rescue _ever_. Of all time.”

Tex snorted. “You just say that because the Reds and Blues haven’t ever rescued you.”

“ _I’m bleeding out_!”

“Jeeze, you’re such a whiny bitch,” Tex said. “Get down!” She tossed a grenade over their cover, and then launched herself over after it, gun blazing. Cursing whatever awful luck had gotten him stuck with a freaking fearless lunatic as his only hope of getting out of prison, Wash rolled to the side, providing her with cover fire.

That was when York rammed through the side of the building with a warthog, nearly hitting Wash in the process. “Get in!” York yelled.

“What do you two have against walls?” Wash wondered, before Tex picked him up and threw him bodily into the vehicle.

“York, healing unit!” She yelled, reaching out her hand.

“I’m reversing!”

“So?”

“ _I need both hands, Tex_!”

“Gunner,” Wash muttered.

“Oh, so now you can handle a fucking leg wound,” Tex said, managing to reach up and grabbing the healing unit right out of York’s armor before slapping it on to Wash. Wash sagged in relief as the unit began to do its job, administering painkillers and stopping the flow of blood. “Stay down,” she ordered, before swinging herself up into the gunner position.

“I don’t take orders from you,” Wash muttered, despite himself.

“Sorry we took so long, Wash,” York said conversationally, as if Tex wasn’t in the middle of determinedly slaughtering half of the base's security forces with a chaingun. “Took us forever to figure out where they’d stashed you.”

“Why weren’t you with me?” Wash demanded, managing to sit up slightly as the healing unit began to heal the worst of the damage. He was still slightly dizzy from blood loss, but he could handle it.

“Told them I was a Sim Trooper.”

“And they _bought that_?” Wash asked, horrified and awed.

“I’m on the books as one because of Blood Gulch, I didn’t have an AI or a mod, and Agent York is dead,” York said with a shrug. “And then when Caboose wouldn’t let us turn in Epsilon...”

Wash banged his head on the seat as he tried to sit up too fast. “He _what_?”

“He gets attached. Very easily.”

Wash took a deep breath. He took several. He reminded himself that Tex was currently in control of a gun that could easily kill him in an instant and had already proven herself to be protective of York. “And you _let him_?”

York looked over his shoulder to stare at Wash. “This, right here? It’s proving you’re still new to all this. We don’t _let_ Caboose do anything. We occasionally _succeed_ at stopping him.”

“So you let me go to prison instead,” Wash said bitterly.  

“Oh, shut up Wash,” Tex said. “We broke you out.”

“Weeks later!”

“You big baby, you left York in prison for longer than that.”

Wash closed his mouth.

“We got you out, didn’t we?”

Wash stared at her for a long moment. He glanced back at York, who was talking quietly with Delta.

He closed his eyes.

They had. They’d come.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Guess you did.”

Tex gave him a weird look. “Were you always so fucking dramatic or was that a side effect of having Church in your brain?”

“Oh no, he was always like this,” York said. “Just a lot less serious. Also less competent. How did Church exposure make you _more_ competent?”

“I did what I had to do to survive.”

It was York’s turn to be shamed into silence. Tex, meanwhile, leaned against the gun, bored now that the combat was over.

“So what now?” Wash finally asked.

“Now,” Tex said cheerfully. “We lose the UNSC, change your armor color, and then you can go wherever the fuck you want.”

Wash stared at her. “What?”

“Missions over, Washington.” Tex said lazily. “Freelancer’s gone. The Reds and Blues are dicking around a canyon.”

“That reminds me,” York said over his shoulder. “We’re supposed to swing by the desert and rescue Tucker.”

“Did we figure out what was attacking him?”

“Nah, Delta couldn’t figure it out.”

“Your friend is being attacked? Shouldn’t you be more concerned about this?”

York and Tex began to laugh at him.

Wash wondered just what he was missing this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Injury, grief, references to character death, both canon and faked, references to the Director's creepy as fuck intentions towards Tex and general asshole-ry, references to torture and manipulation, imprisonment. 
> 
> Come talk to me about this universe, or whatever else you'd like to yell at me about over on [tumblr!](http://secretlystephaniebrown.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy SHIT I did not expect the kind of response I got for the last chapter. Thanks to everyone who cheered me on for this! Particular shoutout to renaroo, saltsanford, and sroloc_elbisivni for their help with this chapter! And generally thanks to everyone who's fallen in love with this ridiculous friendship with me. I couldn't have done it without you. <3
> 
> Warnings in the endnotes!

**Recorded Audio Transcript:**

**Last listened to: 72 hours ago.**

**Listen again?**

The quality was good, all things considered. Freelancer’s encryptions weren’t as strong as they used to be. It didn’t take that much skill to listen in, even to classified calls like this one.

“ _This is Commander Victor, reporting in. Mission was successful. Former Agent New York was executed at 17:52 this afternoon.”_

_“Excellent news, Commander.”_

_“Sir, there were complications.”_

_“Complications?”_ The voice on the other end was dangerously soft.

“ _Agent Texas, sir. She arrived on the scene shortly after. She killed the guards and stole the body. And the armor.”_

_“ **What**?”  _

Carolina couldn’t listen anymore, cutting the playback and taking another deep, gasping breath, trying to steady herself.

She had to stop listening, had to stop pretending that things would change if she just listened _one more time_.

York was dead, on the Director’s orders.

And Carolina hadn’t even been able to avenge him. Texas had stolen that from her too. In addition to everything else.

Carolina closed her eyes and clenched her fists at her sides. She shouldn’t blame Texas for that, she knew. And she should be grateful, even, that Texas had saved York’s body from the Director's anonymous, inglorious disposal. And the armor was gone, too. One less tool for him to use. That should be a good thing.

But she wasn’t. The old anger, the old bitterness, was only refreshed by all this, flourishing well and truly, even after all these years.

Bad enough that York had chosen Tex.

But it looked like Tex had chosen York too. Chosen to go after him, to try to save him, to avenge him, to bury him.

Chosen him like Carolina hadn’t.

“I’m sorry, York,” she said out loud. Stupid. It wasn't like she was anywhere significant, anywhere with meaning. She was just in her latest squat, listening to intercepted Freelancer signals on her helmet and trying to convince her body that it did need to sleep.

She hadn’t been able to find where Tex had buried him. She’d gone looking, in a moment of weakness, when she’d broken into the prison where York had been held, searching for clues to take her closer to the Director. All she’d been able to do was stand in the cell where York had died, staring at the old blood stains, hand braced against the door, which had been ripped off its hinges.

Then she shook her head to pull herself out of the old memories, and began to clean her weapons, closing out of her old recordings, but carefully not deleting it, although her HUD prompted her to.

She had to be ready for wherever she was going next, for wherever her road was leading her.

It was time to take the fight to the Director.

Wherever he might be.

And then she was going to make him pay for every single thing he’d ever done, and every single person he’d taken from her.

She had the only piece of information she needed.

 _Epsilon_.

It was a start.

* * *

Wash was fairly sure he didn’t like the desert.

“Why are we here, again?”

“Because the Reds said that Tucker sent an SOS from this place,” York explained patiently.

“And Tucker is...?” Wash muttered, rubbing his helmet, imagining it would magically alleviate the headache that was rapidly springing up whenever he got in proximity of York and Tex’s banter.

“An idiot,” Tex called.

“A blue,” York said cheerfully. He nudged Wash in the side. “He’s not bad, really. Maybe you’ll like him.”

Wash sighed, exasperated. “Can we just get moving? We’re too exposed here.”

“Do you always fuss so much?” Tex demanded. “We’ve got three Freelancers here. Whatever might be tracking us, it really should be scared of _us_ , not the other way around.”

Wash couldn’t help but gape at her cockiness. “We potentially have the _entire UNSC_ behind us!” Wash yelled.

Tex didn’t move, seemingly unphased. “And?”

“You can’t beat the entire UNSC!” Wash screeched.

“Why not?”

“Alright, as amazing as it is watching you wind Wash up,” York interrupted smoothly, this time nudging Tex. “C’mon. Let’s go hunting for Sim Troopers.”

Wash sighed. “This is a UNSC and Sanghelli outreach outpost,” he said. The thin layer of blue spray paint that covered his armor didn’t make him feel more secure, even if his face was too classified to be on a wanted poster. “We should go find the command center, inquire there.”

Tex tilted her head. “That feels like a great way to get boxed in.”

“Fine!” Wash threw his hands up into the air. “Then you stay out here and skulk, invisible, while we do the talking to people and figure out what’s actually happening here!”

“Probably a good idea,” York said cheerfully. “Tex doesn’t do people. Unless it’s punching.”

“Or shooting,” Tex said. “C’mon York, don’t try to put me in a box.”

“Let’s go,” York said, gesturing to let Wash take the lead. Wash paused, confused by this behavior. If they’d been back at Freelancer, Wash probably would have fallen for it, and then fallen face first into the sand. But now, Wash knew better than to trust York. Honestly.

“Why don’t you go first?” Wash suggested, blandly. It wasn’t paranoia if your old friend had always thought it was funny to see you fall flat on your face.

York tilted his helmet to one side, as if to indicate that he thought Wash was being ridiculous. “Fine, fine,” he said.

Wash glanced over his shoulder to look at Tex, but there wasn’t even the faint glimmer in the air that indicated her presence.

For someone with the subtlety of the MOI’s main cannon, Tex was pretty good at being sneaky when she wanted to be.

It was unnerving, Wash decided.

“Hail the camp!” York called dramatically as they walked towards the base. “Our warthog broke down a few klicks north of here, do you have... spare... parts...”

Wash reached for his knives as Connecticut stepped out of the command center, gun aimed right at them.

“Who are you?” The voice was unfamiliar, and much lower pitched. But... Connie had been equipped with a voice modulator, Wash remembered.

York was also frozen. Then suddenly, he burst into action, bouncing forward as if he didn’t even see the gun.

“Name’s Harris of the Blue Army,” York said, all amiability and cheer. “This is Summers. Say hello, Summers.”

“Hello,” Wash said. Whoever it was didn’t recognize his voice. It couldn’t be Connie... CT... it couldn’t be her. It _wasn’t_ her.

“Great,” they said, gun still pointed at them. “Now what are you doing here?”

“ _You_ ,” Tex said, appearing behind him. She radiated disgust and loathing.  

The man spun around. His form was good. Wash and York reached for their weapons in unison.

“ _You_!” The man spat the word like a curse, venom dripping from the single syllable.

“You scavenged her armor?” Tex said. “You sick fuck.”

“ _Murderer_!” He lunged for her.

Wash’s gun went off, striking him right in the back. The guy went down hard, before he even reached Tex.

York sighed, glancing at Wash. “We might have needed him for information,” York said reproachfully.

“Somehow, I don’t care,” Wash said. “I doubt Tex was going to let him live.”

“I wasn’t,” Tex said, nudging him with her foot. “But hey. He’s still breathing. So I guess you can ask your questions.”

“Fuck,” the man rasped out as Tex flipped him onto his back, hissing in pain. “You.” Wash glanced at Tex, trying to determine if the lack of first aid was deliberate. It probably was.

York sighed, shaking his head. “Well, that’s not very cooperative.”

“You Freelancers can all go to hell,” he sneered, even as Tex ripped his helmet from his face.

“Honestly,” York settled down on his haunches, tilting his head to one side. “Look, we’re not here to fight you. We’re just here to find our friends and leave. They’re on a UNSC mission. You’re UNSC. Now why don’t you just tell us where Tucker and Donut are, and we’ll go away, never see you again, and we all live? Doesn’t that sound like a great deal?”

The man started letting out a painful sounding laugh.

“You’re here for _them_? Isn’t that just rich. You’re too late,” the man laughed. “By now, those two idiots will be dead, and—”

Tex kicked him, causing the man to let out a gasp of pain. “ _Where_?” She demanded, cold and hard and terrifying.

“Screw you, bitch,” the man said. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“We don’t have time to torture him,” York said, so blasé about it that Wash nearly doubled over. “Knock him out, Tex. We’ll handle it later.”

“Sounds good to me,” Tex pulled back her foot, before stomping on the man’s face hard enough that Wash heard bone crunch.

“Was that necessary?” Wash asked, tilting his head to examine the bloodied result.

“I don’t like him,” Tex said with a shrug.

“Alright then,” York said. “Let’s go rescue them.”

“He said they’d be dead already,” Wash pointed out.

“Those two?” Tex said. “Not a chance.”

“I mean, Donut survived Tex, a grenade to the head, and a spaceship landing on him. And did I mention Tex? And then Tucker survived Doc’s medicinal practice, having an alien baby, Wyoming trying to kill him, and Tex.”

“I never tried to kill Tucker,” Tex said, although she didn’t actually sound offended.

“I never said that. I just said he survived you.”

Tex lazily swung at York, who let it glance off his armor. “Why do I keep you around?”

“I like to think it’s for my dazzling wit and conversation.”

“And here I thought it was for Delta,” Wash said, with a bit more bite than maybe was called for.

“Ouch!” York laughed, unoffended. “Alright. What do you think we should do now, Wash?”

Wash paused. “Why are you asking me?” York’s old words echoed through his mind, unbidden.

 _Worst fighter_.

“What can I say? You impressed me.” He paused. “Also, Tex makes terrible plans, so.”

“Shut up,” Tex snapped.

“We both know it’s true, and it does not diminish your amazingness,” York reassured her.

“Aww, how sweet. Now _move up_.”

“Sync?” York asked.

“Sync.” Tex and Wash said together. They moved closer to the temple.

“What do you see?” Tex asked him, facing the direction where they’d came from.

“Single squad, mixed aliens and humans,” Wash said. “Heavy weapons, no artillery.”

“Was artillery an _option_?” York asked.

“They’re clearly camped down,” Wash said. “This is a siege. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were trying to get some.”

“Good thing we got here when we did,” York said. “What’s your recommendation, Rookie?”

“Don’t call me that,” Wash snapped, suddenly tense. “Tex, you get into the temple if you can. York, I’ll cause a distraction, and you take them from behind.”

“Well that sounds fun! But I always find it’s more intimate to take it face on!” York had to lunge, tackling Wash to the ground to prevent him from shooting the man in pink armor who’d just appeared.

“Our side!” York hissed frantically, still keeping one hand on Wash’s wrist to stop him from aiming his gun at the newcomer.

“Donut!” Tex said, and Wash was thrown off balance by how she sounded almost _relieved_. “Where’s Tucker?”

“Still inside! I was supposed to go for help!”

“Well, help’s here,” York said, getting off Wash. “Wash, you have any grenades?”

“I literally only have the gun you gave me.”

“Right.” Wash stared in confusion and wonder as Tex and York both willing handed their grenades over to a Simulation Trooper.

“Right,” York slapped a hand on Wash’s shoulder. “Wash, Donut. Donut, Wash. Don’t shoot each other. I’ll go get ready for that sneak attack.”

Wash stared at the man in pink, who grinned and waved at him.

He turned to ask Tex, but she was already gone.

“I hate them,” Wash said to the world at large.

“They’re always coming!” Donut said cheerfully. “And going,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Wash began to strongly reconsider prison.

* * *

Tucker glanced at the guy in light blue armor who’d basically hauled him out of the temple. He’d barely let Tucker stop to grab the artifact, which Donut had already put in the warthog in preparation for leaving. “What’s your name again?” He asked.

“Washington.”

“Jeeze, another Freelancer?” Tucker complained. “You’re not gonna like, go homicidal on us and chase us around for a few months, are you?”

“Not planning on it.”

“Great, we had enough of that last time. It ended with my kid getting kidnapped. And York vanishing for months. And Tex sulked for _ages_ after that.”

“Tex? Sulking?” Washington looked bemused by that prospect.

“Well. Punching people more than normal.”

“I see.” He glanced at Tucker. “Why does Church hate him so much?”

Tucker laughed. “Are you kidding?”

“No...” Washington squinted at him.

“York’s Tex’s _best friend_. In like, that weird, stay up all night talking about your feelings sort of way. And like, rule one of relationships for chicks is sisters before misters.”

“York is also a guy,” Washington said.

“It’s so awful that friendships between men and women are always construed as romantic,” Donut sighed. “Now me, personally, I prefer the tight, tight bondage between men!”

“It’s... bond... you know what, I don’t want to know.”

Tucker let out a snigger. “Probably for the best, dude. But yeah. He’s her best friend. And like, she and Church... it’s different, y’know? Church thinks it’s a competition.” He shrugged, grinning. “Whatever though, it’s hilarious.”

“Hilarious.” Washington repeated, skeptical.

“Sure is,” Tucker grinned.

* * *

The first thought that Tucker had when Wash took off his helmet was _whoa_. The second was _holy shit he looks exhausted_. The third was _wow he’s hot_.

All combined, Tucker was pretty sure that just about summed it up.

Tucker glanced at Donut, who was watching him very closely, and gave him a not-so-covert thumbs up.

Alright then.

Tucker pulled off his own helmet and sidled closer to Wash, who was blankly staring at the fire that York had started.

Tucker reached into his repertoire of great pick-up lines, because fuck yeah, he could definitely do this.

“You look like shit,” was what he opened with instead, because Tucker’s mouth filter was apparently a traitor which did not want him to get laid.

“I just got out of prison,” Wash responded.

“... wait, seriously?”

“No. Tex and York broke me out.”

Tucker glanced at York and Tex, and then turned back to Wash. “ _Why_?”

“Because they felt guilty?”

“No, why the fuck were you in prison? I thought you were the guy who helped them blow shit up at Freelancer!”

“How do you even know about that?”

“Donut got the story out of Tex in exchange for a bottle of whisky.”

“Where did Donut even _get_ whiskey?”

“First rule of the desert is; never question where Donut manages to requisition things. He can get absolutely anything, except armor that isn’t pink.”

“... can Tex even _drink_ whiskey?”

“I don’t think it will stop her from trying,” Tucker said. “At the very least, she gets to watch York get drunk, and she’d have fun with that.”

“I do not understand those two,” Wash said.

“None of us do, really,” Tucker shrugged. “So, did you know them back at Freelancer?”

“No one knew Tex, really,” Wash said. Tucker glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Wash looked tired. And not just in the “needed a week’s worth of sleep” kind of way. Just that kind of weird, sad tired that Tucker had only ever really seen on Church before, on bad days.

Tucker wasn’t sure he liked it. In fact, he suspected the opposite.

“And York?”

“York was my friend.” There was something off about it.

“What? Like a fuckbuddy or something?”

“Fuckbud— _no_!” Wash flushed brightly. “Friend. That was it.”

Tucker squinted, trying to figure out what Wash wasn’t saying. “A shitty friend?” He guessed.

Wash glared at him. “Stop that.”

“What! You don’t sound very enthusiastic, that’s all I’m saying!”

“I cannot emphasize how much this is none of your business,” Wash said through gritted teeth.

Tucker leaned back, surprised and put off by the expression on Wash’s face. “Whatever. Just trying to make conversation. You seem like you’re going to be around for a while. Thought it’d be fun to get to know you.”

He walked back towards Donut.

“So!” Donut said, grinning at him. “How’d it go?”

Tucker groaned and fell face first onto the dirt.

“Don’t worry,” Donut said. “There’s nothing like a slow, smooth burn. It’s never good to jam it in all at once!”

“Thanks Donut,” Tucker said, voice muffled by the dirt. “You always know exactly what to say.”

* * *

By the time they got to Valhalla, York was ready to breathe easily for a while.

Which is why he _really_ shouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Donut had let Caboose get his hands on the ancient artifact from the temple, and it was Epsilon’s new home.

“You know, I’m starting to see Wash’s point about keeping him,” York observed from behind the tree.

“ _Oh really_?” Wash screeched.

“Stop whining, both of you,” Tex said, having not even bothered joining them in hiding. Instead, she was standing next to Epsilon without a care in the world, arms crossed and amusement clear. “It was just a little laser.”

“Aimed _right for us_!” Wash screeched.

“Aww, he didn’t mean it!” Caboose said fondly. He too was standing next to Epsilon, the tools he’d used to transfer Epsilon into his new body still scattered at his feet.

They’d been home less than fifteen minutes. York had to admit he was impressed at Caboose’s abilities.

“Yes I did!” Epsilon said, sounding proud. “I don’t like them!”

“Well. Guess he’s more like Church than we thought,” York said, peeking out from behind his cover. Wash let out a growl as he did the same, clearly displeased with this development. Not that York could really blame him. It probably would have been hard enough for him to socialize with Epsilon before he was encased in a floating ball of death and destruction.   

“Do that again I’ll use you as a grifball,” Tex said as she patted Epsilon slightly, causing him to dip in the air before floating back up to his previous height. York squinted at her, suspicious that the motion was fond.

“Don’t you _dare_ ,” Epsilon said, eye glowing red again. York and Wash retreated behind the trees again.  

“Aw, it’s cute you think I wouldn’t.”

“She totally would,” Tucker said.

“Seriously, who the fuck are you? Caboose didn’t mention you.”

York rolled his eye, finally deciding it was worth it to cross over to Wash. “Well. There’s your team, Wash,” he said, gesturing broadly.

Wash froze, staring at him. “ _What_?”

“Didn’t you notice?” York tapped Wash on the helmet. “You’re a blue now.”

“When did this happen?” Wash’s voice had returned to those amazingly high notes that York and Carolina had always had fun inducing.

York wondered what that meant, that thinking of Carolina didn’t hurt this time around.

He shelved that thought for another day, returning his focus to riling up Wash. “Didn’t you notice we painted you _Blue_? Caboose was very specific.”

“I’m not affiliated with this! I’m not going to buy into this made up rivalry!”

“Aww, what’s the matter Wash? Afraid we’re going to kick your ass?”

Wash glared at him. “They have _Tex_.”

“Sounds like you’re chicken,” York said. “Ooh, is it sharing a bunk with Tucker? What’s the matter, afraid of a little proximity there? Developing a bit of a crush—?”

“I am going to kill you and blow up your corpse.”

“Cute,” York said cheerfully.  

“Given Agent Washington’s role in Recovery—”

“Dee. Chill,” York said, waving his hand. “Hey Tex, am I going to get a haircut if I come out?”

“I don’t think he’s that precise!”

“Hey!”

“What about losing my other eye?”

“Unlikely! He still can’t aim for shit!”

“ _Hey_!”

“Good to know!” York called as he strode into the clearing.

“Actually, Epsilon seems to have greatly improved Alpha’s own aiming abilities,” Delta mused. York could feel him running the data, filling his mind with that vaguely comforting white noise that he’d long since grown accustomed to.  

“Give it time, Dee. He’s still finding his footing.”

“I heard that, asshole!”

“You were meant to!” York called cheerfully.

The Reds had gathered, clearly curious about the noise.

“Oh, hey York, you’re back.”

“Hey Grif,” York said. “Sarge. Simmons. Donut.”

“York! What is this hogwash! I sent you to bring back Donut, and instead you found the Blues a new recruit? It’s an outrage! Someone call the press! Or the hotline! 1-800-CATASTROPHE!”

“Evened the teams, sir,” York said easily. “Didn’t want them to have an unfair advantage.”

“Unfair advantage?” Simmons demanded. “They have _Tex_!”

“And now they have Wash. It’ll be great.”

Grif squinted at him. “You’re a bit of a masochist, aren’t you?”

“Can’t prove anything,” York said cheerfully.

Simmons began eying Wash worriedly. “So like. Are we concerned about the fact that the formerly crazy super intense guy is now just hanging around? And is probably going to murder us all in our sleep?”

“Don’t worry guys,” York said. “I’m sure we’ll get a new recruit of our own soon enough.”

“You realize you just guaranteed someone’s death, right?” Grif asked.

“If it makes you feel better, my injury rate means it’s probably me.”

“It does, actually. Thank you for your sacrifice.”

“Anything for the glory of the Red Army, Grif.”

“That’s what I like to hear, son!” Sarge said. “Now, let’s get back to base, and prepare the fortifications! I suspect they’ll attack at dawn!”

“Sir?” Simmons said. “It’s noon!”

“Which is why we need to have a full three quarters day to prepare! Damn it Simmons, it’s like you know nothing about siege warfare!”

“Wait, a siege?” Grif perked up. “I know about those! It involves stockpiling food! It’s my favorite kind of warfare!”

“Besides a food fight?” Simmons said.  

Grif gasped, horrified. “ _Simmons_. Why would I ever waste food like that?”

York glanced over at Tex, and his radio pinged, letting him know she was reaching out over their shared channel.

“So. Fighting again?”

“I think it’s important to show Wash how things run around here.”

“Capture the flag it is. Hey, if you can get the flag without using your invisibility, I’ll sneak bourbon from Grif’s stash and we’ll find out if you like it.”

“Sounds like a bet.”

“You know, normally this would be where you’d make a counteroffer,” York laughed.

“I _won’t_ tell Wash about all the things you said when high on painkillers if you guys win.”

“Harsh,” York laughed. “Kick a man while he’s down, would you?”

“It’s like you don’t know me at all, York.”

“Don’t break him,” York said, serious for once. “He’s had a rough time, Tex.”

“He’s not fragile, York,” Tex said, exasperated. “He’s made it this far on his own.”

York sighed. “I guess.”

“He’s not invited when we get drunk,” Tex added. “You can drink your shitty alcohol with him and cry about whatever those issues are on your own time.”

“Aww, Tex! I didn’t realize you’d mind.”

“Shut up. No one’s invited. It’s our time.”

“Who knew experimenting about what kind of alcohol best gets a robot drunk would be so much fun?” York mused.

“You did from the second you suggested it.”

“True. I think Donut can get us some fancier stuff, I’ll need to bribe him.”

“How can you even bribe Donut? What do you _have_?”

“Tex, you underestimate the power of gossip.”

Tex sent him a scowling face over their text chat. “Better not be anything about me, jackass.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” York assured her. “That’s confidential. Best friend privilege.”

“You sound like Tucker,” Tex said. “Best friends.”

“It’s true and you know it,” York said with a grin. “You’re oddly drawn in by my charm and wit.”

“I’m using your for your alcohol access,” Tex claimed. “And the fact you’re not incompetent.”

“Oh, so that’s why you wanted Wash? Are you replacing me, Tex?”

“Absolutely. I’m painting his armor yellow in his sleep and I’m going to call him New York.”

“ _I’m_ New York.”

Tex didn’t hesitate. “New New York.”

“Got me there,” York laughed.

“Tex! Stop gossiping with York!” Tucker said. “Wash hasn’t had real food in _years_ , this needs to be fixed right away!”

Tex cut their channel without so much as a goodbye.

York sent her a smiley face and turned his attention back to the Reds.

* * *

Tex showed Wash to his new bunk. “Epsilon’s staying in Caboose’s room,” she said. “You can lock the door so he can’t come in.”

Wash glanced around, taking in the sparse room. The bottom bunk on the set closest to the door had a duffle bag tossed onto it, and a few photographs were already taped to the wall, clearly marking it as Tucker’s. “And then you and Church have your own?” None of the other bunks showed any signs of habitation. Tucker had managed to make that bed feel his own in a startlingly short amount of time. Wash claimed a bunk further down, although he felt his skin crawl at the distance from the door. But it was still defensible. He’d manage.

He pointedly didn’t think about how he didn’t have any personal artifacts to decorate his bunk with.

“Yeah. He gets clingy otherwise,” Tex said casually.  

Wash remembered Alpha’s screams when he’d been told Tex was dead in the simulation.

“I bet,” he said, the words quieter than he’d intended.

But he must have been silent for too long, because Tex rapped him on the helmet, making him flinch in surprise. “You okay in there, Washington? I’m not equipped for freakouts.” Wash could have sworn he heard a note of genuine concern there for a moment.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Wash insisted, batting her hand away, unthinking. Luckily, Tex opted not to take offense.  

Tex snorted, crossing her arms. “Pull the other one. None of us are “fine”. I’m asking if you’re _okay_.”

“What’s the difference?” Wash demanded.

Tex shrugged. “If you’re okay, you can punch people. If you’re fine, you probably don’t want to.”

Wash stared at her. “You really fit in here,” he said.

It was... odd. Tex at Freelancer had been a puzzle piece that hadn’t fit, like she’d been taken from her box and just been thrown in with theirs, throwing everything out of sync. (That wasn’t fair, he knew, things had been falling apart long before Alpha and Beta had separated, let alone before Tex had arrived on the scene, but it was how it had _felt_.) And while she stood out here in Valhalla—her black armor in contrast to the bright colors, her competence in comparison to their... _everything_. But she _fit_ , nonetheless. She seemed so intrinsically comfortable here, which was startling to realize because Wash, back at Freelancer, had never noticed she _wasn’t_ comfortable, _wasn’t_ happy.  

Tex rolled her eyes, and wasn’t that a startling thing to notice, because she was still wearing her helmet. Wash was already learning to pick up her tells, in a way he hadn’t in all the time being on the same team as her. “Anyone can fit in with these guys. You’ll assimilate soon enough.”

“I really doubt that,” Wash said.

Tex snorted, clasping him on the arm. “Keep telling yourself that, Washington.” She turned to leave.

“Why are you doing this?” Wash asked, before he lost his nerve. “Breaking me out, letting me join your team. _Why_? What do you get out of this?”

Tex glanced at him. “You’re York’s friend,” she said, as if that should be obvious.

“He left me behind,” Wash said, unthinking and bitter.

Tex turned to face him, her movements careful and slow. “Yeah. He did.”

Wash stared at her. “What? You’re not going to tell me he was busy? Preoccupied?”

“Not my job to clean up York’s messes for him,” Tex said, scoffing. “Talk to him yourself. Or don’t. It’s none of my business.” She shrugged. “But he was worried about you, going off on your own again. And Caboose likes you. And Tucker does too. So why not?”

“Why not?” Wash repeated, incredulous. “That’s it? That’s your reasoning?”

“If you want heartwarming speeches, go find Donut,” Tex told him, turning to walk away again. But she paused inside the doorway before she was really gone. “Welcome to Blue Team, Washington.”

Wash sat down on his new bed slowly, trying to think.

* * *

Days passed. Kai finally arrived, with Sheila and Lopez in tow. She fought with Wash, flirted with York, flirted with Tex, fought with Grif, and then set up in the same room as Tucker and Wash.

York mentally braced himself for Sarge’s outrage at the fact that the Blues had two more members now, officially skewing Valhalla firmly in the direction of “Blue”. But, surprisingly, Sarge seemed oddly buoyed by the Blue’s increasing numbers. “I’ve always said that a Red was worth ten Blues!” He boasted after a rigorous round of capture the flag which ended with a wall getting destroyed.

York suspected the elation might have something to do with the fact that Tex had sat out the last two games. But he didn’t say anything.

Tex found the perfect spot for them to have their drinking nights; behind the waterfall. York began the process of bribing Donut to get some of the harder-to-procure liquors that Tex hadn’t tasted yet. Getting Tex drunk was a _process_ , one he approached with academic rigour.

Figuring out that Tex’s robot body could even get drunk had been one of the most enjoyable experiences York had had in the few short months that they’d spent together after the fall of Project Freelancer.

Being in Valhalla was oddly soothing, even fun. There were fights and arguments and petty things, sure, but Freelancer was gone. He knew he was far from the only one breathing easier about that particular issue.

Wash still was figuring things out, and still wasn’t talking to him much. Tex had passed along a few of Wash’s comments from his first day, and York forced himself to be quiet.

Because yeah. That was fair.

He _hadn’t_ come back. Sure, he’d wanted to. Sure, he’d tried. But he hadn’t.

Wash had absolutely every right not to like him for that alone.

York handled this by being a mature adult and getting absolutely trashed on bourbon when he and Tex met up.

Delta did not approve.

* * *

Wash _liked_ Tucker, he really did. He liked Kai too, for that matter, even if she drove him crazy. They both did, for a variety of reasons, most of them logical and reasonable, others odd and nonsensical.

But Wash was going to place “the fact that they both slept naked” firmly in the first category.

“I’m going to kill them,” Wash declared, slamming the door to York’s room behind him.

York’s bunk was as sparse as Wash’s own. On the upside down crate that served as a bedside table, Wash could see parts of an old fashioned lockpicking kit, and a few disassembled padlocks. But that was about it, the only sign that Wash could see that this bunk was _York’s_.

Although he might have been distracted by the lacy pink curtain that cut through the center of the room, clearly telling him who York’s roommate was.

“Who are you killing?” York was out of armor, wearing a battered grifball hoodie, sprawled out on his bunk, looking up from the datapad he was reading.

“Kai and Tucker,” Wash snapped.

York glanced at him. “Is this a request for me to get the shovels or a case of beer?”

“ _Neither_ ,” Wash snapped, running his hands through his hair. “I just. Need to breathe.”

York’s expression was surprised. “So you came here?”

“I... yes.”

York’s face was carefully blank, and Wash knew instantly that Tex had passed on what he’d said. “Well then,” York said. “Make yourself at home.”

Wash didn’t have a good reason for having gone to York. Maybe Tex would have killed him if he’d gone to her. Maybe Caboose wouldn’t have just let him sit here, quiet. Maybe he didn’t know any of the other Reds well enough.

But he sat on the bed, next to York, and stayed still and silent.

“So,” York finally said, picking up one of the padlocks and beginning to put it back together. “You don’t like being called Rookie anymore, huh?”

“I didn’t like it _then_ ,” Wash said flatly.

Honest surprise flickered across York’s face. “You never said.”

Wash gritted his teeth. “My place was tentative enough,” he snapped. “It took me _forever_ to get to where I was, and even then I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t about to risk—”

“You were never going to get kicked off the top team,” York interrupted, incredulous. “C’mon, you never even left the leaderboard.”

“Worst fighter on the squad, remember?” Wash snapped.

Understanding finally appeared on York’s face.

“Oh.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? ‘Oh?’” Wash said, really losing his temper. He snatched the lock out of York’s hands.

York looked... Wash didn’t know how he looked. He was quiet for a very long time.

“Sorry,” York said, after a long, long while.

“What?” Wash demanded.

“I was an asshole,” York said. “Still am, but that’s not the point. I didn’t realize it bothered you.” He shrugged. “Not an excuse, I know. But, for what it’s worth. I’m sorry. You were one of us. Always were.” He got to his feet.

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?” Wash asked, incredulous.

York glanced at him. “Unless you’ve got something else you want to say,” he said. He was oddly subdued.

Wash had to admit that he was done with the talking part. He needed to think.

“Great,” York said. “You can stay here if you want. I need to go find Grif and have a smoke.”

Wash frowned. “I thought you told Carolina you gave it up.” The two of them paused, the name heavy in the air between them.

“Well,” York said with forced levity that Wash could see right through. “If she wanted me not to start again, she shouldn’t have given me my lighter back.”

There was a story there, maybe a thousand stories. But Wash didn’t know them, didn’t know if he wanted to. So he just stayed there as York scooped up a battered old lighter from his bedside table, and headed out, closing the door behind him.

* * *

By the time York made it to the roof, York had managed to get his thoughts mostly in order. He’d calmed down, at least. But he really needed a smoke, no doubt about that.

He couldn’t believe that Wash had remembered that it had been Carolina who’d gotten him to stop smoking, back at Freelancer. Not that Wash would have known about her arguments. How she’d refused to kiss him when he’d come back stinking of cigarettes, how she’d take his cigarettes and trade them to South for the cheap candy bars she loved, how she’d steal all of his lighters, throwing them all away except the first one, which she’d kept, because although she’d deny it, she was as sentimental as he was, sometimes.

It was months after Freelancer when he’d sat down next to Tex with a half-used pack he’d grabbed from their mark on the last job, and smoked together. Tex hadn’t liked it, but York had kept going.

At least at Red Base, he had company.

“You’re not going to break down on me, are you?” Grif asked, glancing at York suspiciously, even as he held out the cigarettes.

“l promise that I’ll save my angst for a later date,” York said. Grif’s cigarettes were an awful cheap brand that made York want to gag. Even before he’d kicked the habit, back in Freelancer, he would have avoided stuff quite this awful.

But it didn’t matter, now. Now it was... York didn’t know what it was. A toast? A memorial? A rebellion against a memory?

Whatever it was, York flicked out the old lighter and lit up, passing it to Grif to use next.

“Was that Wash downstairs? You know Sarge is going to kill you for letting a Blue into base, right?” Grif blew a smoke ring. York admired his form. He’d never learned how, himself.

“I think I could take him, don’t you?” York said with a grin. “Besides, I’ll just tell him that it’s part of my plan to learn all of Wash’s secret Blue plots.”

Delta, still mumbling statistics about lung cancer, sulked in the back of his mind, like he did every time York let himself have this. But he’d stopped screeching years ago. He’d learned it was pointless.

York leaned against the wall with Grif, and said nothing more until the cigarette was done.

* * *

“... Wash was right, wasn’t he?”

Tex glanced up, confused. “What about?”

Church had left his body behind, and was floating a few inches off the ground, looking at himself.

“I’m not a ghost,” he said, and Tex sat upright, panic flooding through her, because...

This had never happened before.

“Church?”

“We’re not ghosts. Epsilon sounds like me. Epsilon sounds like the Alpha. I’m...”

Tex launched herself out of her body, catching Church’s hand in hers.

“Church,” she said.

“I’m the Alpha,” he said. “I’m an AI. Aren’t I?”

Tex stared at him. “Yes,” she finally said.

Church’s pale form flickered, and Tex reached out with her other hand, but he moved away.

“Why didn’t you _tell me_?”

Tex stared at him. “You still don’t remember,” she sighed. It wasn’t a question. There was no point. Of _course_ he didn’t remember—his memories were literally down the hall, yelling at Caboose.

But he _had_ remembered York. He’d remembered so many things. Things Tex hadn’t told him. And he still knew who she was, despite Epsilon. The divisions between fragment and AI had never been clean, but this one might have been the most ragged cut that Church had made.

“Can you show me?” Church turned towards her. “Tex. I need to _know_.”

Tex paused. “Okay.”

She opened herself up to him, letting him pour through her data at breathtaking speed. She had the presence of mind to grab everything she didn’t want him to see and shove it behind a firewall, but the rest of it Church zoomed through, unimpeded.

She saw him flicker again when he got to Freelancer.

He took his time here, going through everything one by one, picking over everything with a fine toothed comb, comparing it to his own, piecemeal memories.

He paused on Carolina, the first time he came to her.

“I remember her,” Church said, almost reverently. “I used to get FILSS to shut down her training program when she stayed up too late.”

“You did,” Tex said. She remembered him doing it, before the Director had separated them. She wondered if he’d kept at it afterwards.

“I liked her.”

“So did I.”

He seethed and twisted whenever the memories involved the Director, and Tex reached out and took his holographic hand in her own.

There were no sensors when they were like this. Nothing to make it real.

But it was real enough to them, and that was all that mattered.

Finally, they were standing there, Tex’s memories exhausted and the room silent. It had been a long time, even for the organics in the base. Everyone else had gone to sleep.

Church looked at her. “Do you want....?”

“I was there for most of it,” Tex said. At least, all of it that she cared about.

“Right. Right.” He stared at the ground. “So what now?”

Tex glanced at him disliking how mopy he was being, and then gave him a hard shove, sending him back into his body.

“What the fuck?” Church yelped, as Tex settled into her own body with a lot more dignity than she’d allowed him.

“We’ll figure it out later,” Tex said. “I’m thinking we deserve a vacation.”

“... what, like go sit on a beach somewhere?”

“Maybe,” Tex said, but she was already thinking of the possibilities. She’d have to ask Delta for advice on locations nearby.

* * *

“You’re leaving?” York asked, surprised.

“Not for long,” Tex said, examining the oddly pink alcohol York had procured this week. She uncapped the bottle and took a swig. She made a face. “This tastes like candy.”

“It’s great,” York said absently. “Don’t worry, there’s harder stuff in the bag.”

“Good.” Tex went digging. “Church wants to go on vacation.”

“... where?” York was honestly curious.

“Haven’t gotten that far yet.”

“Ah. Good to know.” York poured himself a generous portion of the pink stuff, then mixed it with the vodka that Tex had found.

“I didn’t know we were _mixing_ tonight,” Tex said.

“Tex, I’m going to find you a cocktail that you like if it kills me.”

Tex grabbed his drink right out of his hands and threw it back. York snorted, bemused by her behavior.

“That’s still gross,” she said, making a face and handing him back the glass.  

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re coming back then,” York said, nudging her.

Tex rolled her eyes at him.

“Don’t let them get themselves killed while I’m gone,” she said.

“Please,” York waved his hand. “I’m an expert at not getting killed by now. In this timeline at least.”

Tex punched him for that.

Half an hour later, they were sprawled out on the floor of the cave. York was drunk. Tex was buzzed.

“I’ll miss you,” York said, rolling over to lean against her.

“You’re drunk,” Tex said, shoving at him slightly, but not hard enough to actually move him away. Which meant he could keep doing it. By now, he spoke fluent Tex.

“Yes,” York said, shameless. “Still will miss you. And Church. Although he’s an asshole.”

“That’s why I like him,” Tex said, finally giving in and leaning against him as well. “And I’ll miss you too, dumbass.”

“Knew it,” York slurred. “Grew on you. Like mold.”

“Toxic mold,” Tex agreed. But she patted his shoulder instead of punching him, so York counted it as a win.

* * *

Tucker came running to Red Base. York hadn’t heard him this scared since the time Tex had decided that she wanted to play Grifball.

“There’s someone at Blue base! Wash didn’t sound too happy to see them, and he said to go get you guys!”

York grabbed his shotgun without a thought, Delta already starting to run the calculations in his head, flitting through the variety of possibilities.

The others were still scrambling to get ready by the time York was out the door, running towards Blue Base. Most days, the inefficiency was hilarious, but at times like this, York desperately missed the Freelancer swiftness and preparation.

He turned the corner, and froze for a moment when he saw the blue-ish green armor, standing right in front of Blue Base, armed to the teeth.

York didn’t let the paralysis last. Rage flooded him, because _how dare they_. There was no way this was accidental. It was almost perfect, down to the helmet.

The memory of CT’s scavenged armor flitted through his mind, and York’s course of action was decided.

York pumped his shotgun and fired, what would have been a decent shot, had the person stood still. But at the sound, the figure jumped and then quickly turned to face him ready to fight. They closed the distance between them so quickly that York barely had time to breathe, slamming their foot against his chest. York grabbed and tried to twist, but they were too fast, and he fell to the ground. He threw them off, and tackled them bodily to the ground.

They were good, whoever they were, throwing a barrage of punches at him that he blocked most of, but a few made it through his guard, leaving bruises wherever they landed. York retaliated with a few of his own, but they seemed to shrug them off easily.

They really were good. It almost reminded him off—he shoved aside the thought. Carolina was dead.

He heard the Reds arrive, and was distantly aware of shouts, but he didn’t listen to any of them; there wasn’t time. He had to keep on alert if he was going to win this fight.

She— _they_ —slammed him to the ground, and then they were on top of him, pinning him to the ground.

“How _dare you_!” They reached for the seals of his helmet, and he bucked, trying to throw them off, but the helmet went anyways.

They froze. “ _York?_ ”

York had had enough of all this, and managed to take advantage of their distraction to flip their positions. “I show you mine...” He drawled, keeping his voice deliberately light, as he pulled off the other’s helmet.

Carolina stared up at him. Her hair was short now, and her eyes were as keenly green as he remembered. When he dreamed this, her face was the same as it had been the last time he’d seen her. But she looked like time had passed, and that’s what made him realize that this was _real_. Not a trick. Not a dream. She was really here, in Valhalla.

“ _Carolina_ ,” he whispered, the word sounding embarrassingly close to breathless.

She didn’t respond. Her eyes were wide and her lips were parted slightly as she stared up at him. Instead she reached up and grabbed him, pulling him down for a kiss.

It was almost like he remembered, but with a desperate tinge, as if neither of them believed this was real, as if they both thought the other would disappear if they stopped even for a moment. Her lips were chapped but her mouth was warm, and York had dreamed of this every night since the Mother of Invention, but it was _real_.

Now the Reds and Blues were shouting even more, demanding answers, but York couldn’t be bothered to even look up, because Carolina had just flipped them over so that he was the one on his back, and was still kissing him. He laughed, and he felt her smile against his lips. Finally, breathless and dizzy and still smiling, they finally parted, resting their foreheads against each other.

“You’re alive,” he whispered, good eye searching every inch of her face, looking and cataloguing differences.

“ _You’re_ alive,” she said back. It had been far too long since York had seen her smile like that.  

“What the hell is going on?” Grif yelled. York finally managed to pull his eye away from Carolina to look at them. The others were all staring. Except for Wash, who looked like he was on the verge of beating his head against the wall.

“Guys,” York said, managing to get to his feet. He tried to act as if nothing had happened. “Meet Carolina.”

“Who are they?” Carolina asked, frowning. Their helmets were still on the grass at their feet.

“They’re the Reds and Blues,” York said. “That’s Sarge, Grif, Simmons, Donut, Lopez is the quiet one, Wash is the one who’s despairing in the corner, that’s Tucker, that’s Kai, and that’s Caboose.”

“Hello!” Caboose waved.

Wash turned his attention back to them. “What are you doing here, Carolina?”

Carolina stiffened. “The Director escaped capture after the fall of Project Freelancer,” she said tensely, sounding like she was giving a report. “I have an idea of how to find him.” Her eyes flickered over the Reds and Blues, before moving to York for a long moment, then returning to Wash. “I thought you might be willing to help. I hadn’t realized—”

“Wait, that fucker got away? Seriously?” Tucker demanded. “What the hell? They locked _Wash_ up, but they couldn’t fucking catch the guy who actually _ran everything_?”

“Ah the inefficiency of the UNSC,” York said. “I have not missed it.”

“I think we might want to wait for Tex to get back,” Wash said flatly.

“Tex?” Carolina said, instantly tensing up again.

“She’s on vacation with Church right now,” York said, hoping it was the right answer.

It wasn’t.

“ _Church_?”

“Ah. The Alpha.”

Carolina stared at him. “Why is Texas on vacation with the Alpha?”

York stared right back at her, agape, then slowly closed his mouth. “Ah. Well. That’s a long story?”

Carolina looked at him, and the softness from earlier was gone. “I think I can take the time,” she said.

“Dibs,” Grif and Simmons chorused.

“ _Damn it_!’

* * *

Carolina stayed in the same room as York, but she kept to her own bunk.

It was too much to take in. That he was _here_ , alive and well, hanging out with Sim Troopers, and Wash, and _Tex_.

York seemed the same way, bouncing between elation and hurt on a regular basis. He disappeared often, and came back smelling of cigarette smoke.

“I thought you quit,” Carolina said, after a few days of this.

York didn’t look at her. “Guess I fell off the wagon.”

Carolina wanted to scream—it was taking _too long_. But York and Wash both wouldn’t budge without Tex, and Carolina had to admit that having Alpha would be useful. Almost as useful as Epsilon, who was already working with her to try to narrow down his location.

York was literally the next bunk over, but Carolina hadn’t felt this far away from him in so long. Because all the questions she’d never thought she could get answers for were bubbling just under the surface. Questions that she _knew_ would just lead to a fight, would ruin this tentative peace that filled this valley.

Why he’d chosen Tex. Why he hadn’t come to her. Why Tex had trusted _him_.

Carolina spent the days mostly avoiding York, as much as it burned her to admit it. The Sergeant was delighted to have her on Red Team, and she didn’t bother to correct him. The girl in yellow armor flirted endlessly. The tank that spoke with FILSS’s voice offered her advice how to handle York. It mostly tended to involve changing his oil. Carolina _really_ hoped that it was a euphemism.

Finally, York shook her awake, ducking her instinctual punch just as easily as he had years ago. He grinned at her.

“Tex is back.”

Carolina grabbed her helmet, and ran.

Tex was standing by Wash, arms crossed.

“Texas,” Carolina said, hoping her voice didn’t betray how concerned she was.

“ _Carolina_?” Tex sounded almost flustered. Carolina tried to enjoy that. “What? How? _What_?”

“Surprise,” York sang, amused.

“Wait, _Carolina_?” The man next to her, who had to be Alpha, said. “But she’s—you said she was dead!”

“She was,” Tex insisted, not taking her eyes off Carolina. Carolina felt oddly like she was under a microscope, being searched for any sign of an imposter. “I saw her go off the cliff!”

“I survived,” Carolina said curtly.

Tex crossed her arms. “Why are you here?” She glanced at York, as if checking everything was okay. Carolina bristled. She’d heard the Reds and Blues talk about how close Texas was with York but...

She hadn’t realized Tex _could_ care.

It was off putting.

“The Director got away,” Wash said, that bitter note that Carolina had heard every time he came up in his voice.

Carolina watched, fascinated, as Tex whirled on him, snarling. “ _What_?”

“He ran,” Carolina spat, suddenly glad that Tex understood. She remembered how _dangerous_ Tex had been on the field. With them working together... maybe she could do this. “He went underground.”

Tex stared at her. Carolina imagined that her lips were curled away from her teeth.

“You going to kill him or drag his ass to the courthouse?” Tex asked, cocking her head to one side. “I’m down either way. Just want to know the plan here.”

“He’s _dead_ ,” Carolina said. There was no hesitation, that had all died a long time ago, even before she’d thought he’d killed York. “I... I’ll need your help to get to him.” It was painful to admit.

Tex let out a dark chuckle that made Carolina’s skin crawl. “Oh, I’m _in_.”

“Sarge?” The maroon one whispered. “I’m scared.”

“As we should be, Simmons,” the orange one said.

York just laughed. “Well,” he said. “ _This_ should be interesting.”

* * *

They’d been travelling for three days when Carolina found him on a cliff, smoking. It had once been a familiar sight, the cigarette angled towards the ground, the faint line of smoke rising out of his mouth towards the sky.

She stomped up to him, furious. Her nerves were shot to hell, her temper was close to boiling over due to all the time she’d been spending with Texas, and _this_... this was the last fucking straw.

“Give me _that_ ,” Carolina snatched the cigarette right out of his hands. “I can’t believe you started this again, you’re going to get yourself killed!”

“Thank you, Agent Carolina,” Delta said, sounding peeved. “I have been trying to convince York of this, but he was quite insistent.”

“It’s not like I’ll live long enough to suffer the consequences,” York said. His hand was behind his back, and Carolina realized that he must be hiding more of them behind his back.

“Show me your hand,” she demanded.

He froze slightly. “What do you mean?”

“ _Show me_ ,” she repeated.

Finally, slowly, he showed her.

“... you kept it,” she whispered. She felt like a balloon that had been popped. Suddenly, all she wanted to do was curl up, crumple. Words like “ _I’m sorry_ ,” threatened to spill out, and she bit her tongue viciously to stop them.

“Yeah.” York wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“York, I...”

“You don’t have to explain,” York said, vaguely. “You didn’t owe me anything.” But there was hurt on his face, old hurt, old pain.

Carolina sighed, staring down at the still lit cigarette in her hand.

She lifted it to her mouth and took a long drag, making a face at the taste. “These are awful,” she told him.

“I know,” York said. But a few lines had disappeared from his face. The gesture had worked.  

Carolina let herself sit down beside him, passing him the cigarette back. “You’re going to stop when this is all over,” she threatened.

He grinned, and blew smoke in her face. Carolina swatted him, coughing and waving it away.

“You’re going to pay for that later,” she threatened.

“Hey,” York said, his smile growing by the second. “As long as there _is_ a later.” Then he dropped the cigarette to the ground, and cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her.

Something that Carolina hadn’t even realized was knotted inside her loosened. It didn’t come undone—she suspected it wouldn’t until this mission was over.

But they both tasted of smoke and he was undeniably, physically _here_.

Carolina could work with that.

* * *

Tex eyed Carolina out of the corner of her eye as she returned from scouting the perimeter. “You and York make up?” She asked, catching a whiff of York’s god-awful cigarettes as Carolina walked past.

Carolina stood perfectly still, glaring. “That’s none of your business, Texas,” she said, icily.

Tex shrugged. “Fine,” she said, easily. “I’ll go check on Church then.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Remember who the real enemy is, kid,” Tex added. “We’re on the same side, here.”

“We were supposed to be last time,” Carolina snapped.

“Are you seriously mad at me for trying to take that bastard down before you had your own wake-up call?” Tex said, gobsmacked. “Are you fucking _kidding me_?”

“You have any idea how much damage you caused when you crashed that ship?” Carolina snapped, moving into Tex’s space. Tex stood her ground, planting her feet wide. She’d never let anyone push her around, and she was not about to start with Carolina. “What you—”

“ _York_ crashed the ship,” Tex snapped. “I told him to cause a distraction, that’s all. And don’t pretend you care about that,” Tex jabbed Carolina on the chestplate. “You’re just sore you never got an answer for that fight.”

“ _You_ —”

“Shut up. I’m talking. I don’t give a shit about your fucking rivalry. I don’t give a shit about the Director, except wanting him to pay. This shit? It’s on _you_. I’m playing nice, which believe me, is saying a lot.” She narrowed her eyes. “I like you, Carolina. You’ve got spunk. But I’m not going to put up with bullshit like this. Not even for York’s sake.”

“ _Spunk_?” Carolina’s voice cracked with rage. Tex noticed, suddenly, that none of the Sim Troopers were within her visual range.

Smart boys. And Kai.

“Yep,” Tex said evenly.

Carolina stared at her for a long time.

“You better learn to tell your friends from your enemies, Carolina,” Tex added, pointedly.

Carolina suddenly spluttered. “Did you just quote _me_ , to _me_?”

“It was good advice,” Tex said with a shrug.

Carolina looked at her. “What do you mean, not even for York?”

Tex rolled her eyes. “He’s my friend,” she said. “I put up with a lot of shit for him. Bad alcohol. Mixed drinks. Puns.”

Carolina let out a small snort. “He’s still on cocktails? Out here?”

“Yep.”

Carolina sighed. “How does he even get the components?”

“Donut,” Tex said, wondering if Carolina had learned enough to except that as the full explanation it was.

Carolina shook her head in a way that told her that sharing a room with Donut had indeed given Carolina the proper education.

“Thanks,” Carolina said, finally.

Tex blinked, confused. “For what?”

“For saving him.”

“Hey. He’s my friend,” Tex said. “Just because you had him first doesn’t mean you get dibs on him as damsel in distress.”

“I take great offense to that,” York said, having just arrived. “Although I do look fantastic in a dress.”

“I think Carolina prefers the tied up part,” Tex said, smirking, and watched with glee as York dropped his gun.

“ _Tex_!” York hissed.

Tex laughed, and ducked Carolina’s swipe, which was so half-hearted it didn’t even count. “I’ll let you crazy kids get to it,” she said. “I should go make sure they boys haven’t blown up anything important.”

“ _You’re going to pay for that later_ ,” York howled after her, but Carolina’s laughter was louder.  

* * *

The fight was over, but for once, Tex wasn’t enjoying it.

“He—they—” Tex reeled backwards, feeling sick. She hadn’t even known she _could_ feel sick—a hundred nights of drinking with York and laughing at him through his hangovers had proved that it shouldn’t happen.

But here she was. The floor beneath her feet wasn’t stable, and she stared out at the room, filled with armor like hers, _bodies_ like hers.

“This is what he wanted?” Tex whispered, numb. “ _This_?”

“Tex,” a hand touched her shoulder and Tex reacted without thinking, lashing out. The numbness was gone, and her circuits were engulfed in fiery, hot rage.

Her fist collided with York’s helmet, and York went _down_.

“York!” Tex didn’t even look at Carolina, even though she _knew_ she had to be the one who screamed. Tex didn’t even pause to brace herself for the punch that had to be coming.

Tex didn’t take her eyes off York, who was looking up at her.

The place where she’d punched was fractured slightly. Not enough to let her see his face, just enough to slash through her own reflection in his visor.

Carolina’s attack didn’t come. She didn’t know who was holding her back.

“York, I...”

He was sprawled on the floor still, propping himself up on his elbows. He was staring at her. She had no idea what expression was on his face.

But laughter was the last sound she expected him to make.

“York?” Tex said, bewildered.

“Please, you’ve hit me harder than this, for teasing you about Church,” York said. “I should know better than to sneak up on you right after a fight.”

Tex opened her mouth to protest that nothing like this had ever happened before, but then she caught the angle to his helmet.

He was giving her an out.

Gratitude rushed through her for her ridiculous best friend.

She swallowed. “Still.”

She held out her hand to help him up. An apology, in their own way.

There was a pause, before York grabbed it, and she pulled him to his feet.

“Sorry,” she said, too quietly for anyone but him to hear.

York gripped her hand tighter, pulling her closer to him.

“We’re going to make him pay,” he promised her, too quiet for the others.  

Then he turned to Carolina. “Well that was dramatic!” He said, false cheer radiating from him.

Wash and Sarge released her, and Carolina moved towards York, as if unsure if she was willing to fuss over him in front of everyone. Tex pointedly looked away, not sure if the others would take the hint.

“We need to finish this,” Carolina said. Tex looked at her again, and she was stiff, on edge.

“Then let’s go,” Tex said.

Carolina glanced at her.

“You, me, Church, and Epsilon,” Tex said flatly. “The others can handle the next wave.”

Carolina nodded, slowly.

“Together,” Carolina said. Church drifted to her side, tension and fear radiating from him.

Epsilon flickered over Carolina’s shoulder.

“We’ve totally got this,” Epsilon declared.

They walked towards the Director’s office.

Behind them, Tex could hear Sarge barking orders and the sound of gunfire starting up again.

Her helmet pinged with a message from York:

 _We’ll be here when you get back_.

Tex believed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah Wash's adventures with Kai and Tucker are probably going to get their own fic. Because yes. Those two were trying to seduce him. No, he hadn't realized it yet. Poor Wash. His suffering never ends. 
> 
> Warnings for: grief, smoking, alcohol, some low-grade horror about what the Director did in S10, violence.
> 
> As always, feel free to talk to me on my [tumblr!](http://secretlystephaniebrown.tumblr.com/)!


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